Hopeless and Heartless
by LateNiteSlacker
Summary: You are Dirk Strider, charged with fighting off the demons of Derse in a world where everyone is supernatural. Can you keep up the fight and somehow make the oblivious Jake English realize your affections for him? Yes. Yes you can.
1. Striders Don't Cry

**Chapter 1: Striders Don't Cry**

* * *

**Dirk: Cry like a fucking baby**

No thanks. You're DIRK STRIDER and you don't cry like a fucking baby. But you will silently mourn your partner's loss from afar. They had to have a daytime ceremony in the middle of a blessed holy park, the pricks. You were her best friend, and you thought they'd have a little sensitivity to your condition but apparently not.

And so your best friend and only partner ROXY LALONDE is being laid to rest in a little pixie grave with all the other sad little pixies in some hallowed park beneath the bright shining sun. Probably next to a waterfall and a rainbow or something gaudy as hell like that.

Meanwhile, you're stuck inside, staring at a picture of your last night out on the town together while you silently mourn her loss on your own. In the picture, Roxy's wearing her favorite purple and black striped scarf (the one you got her years ago.) She's grinning like an idiot and she's got you in a less-than-ironic chokehold in one arm while she takes the picture with the other. She even pulled out her spunky little purple fairy wings for the pic.

That's right. Roxy was a fairy. You're really surprised that you didn't figure it out sooner. Two years you worked together before you finally figured it out. Then again, she was damned good at hiding it. Roxy had learned to change her size at will, a handy skill on more than one occasion.

She was spunky, she was sexy, and you loved her. But now she's gone, and tonight you'll have another partner to deal with. You're not sure you're ready for that yet, but you're a Strider. You won't spout cliché nonsense about how you feel hopeless or like your heart's been ripped out. You'll do what you have to do, and nobody will ever know how much her death hurts you inside. You'll work like a pro and kick those demon's asses back to Derse where they came from.

But that's tonight. For now, you've got a whole day to cry like a fucking baby.

* * *

**Dirk: Go to work**

You arrive at the back-alley bar/lounge a good three hours after sunset. That's three hours late, but you just can't bring yourself to care tonight. Of course, one specific motherfucker does care.

That motherfucker happens to be your older brother. He's standing beneath the black awning with his arms folded across his chest, leaning back on the brick beside the glass door like he owns the place. Well, technically, he does.

"Sup little bro? 'Bout time you showed up tonight," he drawls, grabbing you by the arm when you're close enough and pulling you inside. He's wearing his favorite orange hat, the collar of his white shirt popped for ultra douchiness.

He quickly ushers you through the bar, steering you around tables where patrons are lounging at high-top tables and shooting pool in the corner. Everywhere you lay your eyes, your co-workers are all giving you pitying looks. Latula's eyes follow you from behind the bar, looking like she wants to pull you into a tight hug, but she wouldn't dare get in Bro's way. Not when he's on a mission. Porrim actually does reach out and pat your shoulder sympathetically when you walk past a table she's serving. Kankri looks like he wants to say something to you, but thankfully Bro continues to push you along.

You wonder why your co-workers are acting this way. At first you think it's because they know it must suck to have Bro as your bro. But then you remember Roxy. You swallow away the lump in your throat.

Bro ushers you through the lounge, where the usual patrons are already gathered in cozy groups of couches, sipping whatever cocktails Latula made for them. You catch one of them making a disgusted looking face after taking a sip. Kankri must have made that one.

Once you're past the lounge, you make your way past a wooden door labeled "employees only" and hit a nondescript hallway in the back, passing by tiny office rooms where your less social co-workers sit working mostly in silence. Even Karkat's eyebrows twinge a bit in pity as you pass by his office.

At the end of the hallway is the largest office. Bro pushes you in.

"Have a seat," he says, letting you go once you're inside. He shuts the door ominously behind you.

You sit on his worn-in brown suede couch, and you quickly find a cup full of something in your hands. "What is this?"

"Breakfast," Bro replies, standing right in front of you as he leans back against his desk, which is stacked with papers as usual. Next to him is a gold plated sign with his name in all caps: "BRO STRIDER." Bro likes to imagine himself as a hard-boiled sleuth from time to time, so you got him this sign a few decades ago for the perfect ironies. You're sure that he has a real first name, but nobody ever calls him that. To everyone, including you, he will always be Bro. He's the one who started this shindig long ago, and he's the one that keeps it going. Hunt the evil demons of Derse and put them back in their graves.

It's a fine line, of course, since technically most of the people working for Bro could be classified as some sort of demon. Bro is included. So are you and your younger brother Dave. But you all know where to draw the line. Others of your kind either never learned where the line was or never cared. They're the ones giving you all a bad name, terrorizing humanity and making civilizations rise and fall. They're the ones that you hunt every night.

Bro tilts his head in a way that tells you he's getting impatient. Oh right, he gave you "breakfast." You gaze doubtfully into the dark liquid in the cup he's given you. Bro has a habit of feeding you things you'd rather not eat. All in the pretense of making you stronger. You suppose that maybe it's helped? You're not really sure if it does. What you're sure of is that he gets a kick out of your misery every time.

You hazard a sip of the dark liquid and sigh in relief. It's just coffee.

Bro snorts, "what, did you think I was going to feed you Yeti blood or something?"

You level a glare at him through your shades.

He smirks at you and admits, "yeah, it's in the fridge. But I figured tonight you could use a little pick-me-up."

His statement knocks the wind out of you more than any strife ever could.

Roxy. He's talking about Roxy.

The coffee cup trembles in your hands, and Bro is quick to snatch it back before any damage can be done to the rug on the floor. He kneels down, eye level to you and says, "hey, look at me."

You don't.

"Look at me," he insists again, this time a little bit louder. To emphasize his point, Bro slowly removes his shades.

You sigh like the angst-filled teenager you feel like right now and grudgingly draw your gaze up into his bright amber eyes. "What?"

"You know I'd give you a day off if I could. Hell, I'd give you a decade off. But you're our best man. Dave is getting pretty good, but you're still our best," he reasons, which sounds so strange coming from Bro. Usually he's much more direct and harsh, but today he seems a little—softer. A bit more considerate.

You hate it. "I know. I know but I fucking hate it! I'll keep working, but nobody can take Roxy's place. Nobody."

"Dirk, you need someone with you now more than ever," Bro continues, completely unfazed by your little outburst. "I'm giving you a partner and that's final."

"It's not fair!" you growl in a very uncharacteristic way. You can't help it, your Strider mask is strained. Roxy's dead. Everything you cared about, gone.

"No it's not. And stop thinking that way, it's not true," Bro admonishes, dipping into your thoughts in that annoying way of his. He grasps your hand, squeezing lightly. "You're a Strider. We look out for each other. I'm giving you a partner because I care about you and don't want to find you dusted on the sidewalk come morning. Don't give me that look, you know it's true."

You hadn't realized you were glaring at him, but you were. Stupid Bro with his stupid telepathy and stupid always being right.

"That's the spirit," he says, releasing your hand and slipping his shades back on. He hands your coffee back to you and gestures towards the door. "Your new partner's just outside the building, whenever you're ready to meet him. He's got your assignment."

* * *

**Dirk: Greet your new partner**

You hate this guy already. He's leaning against the brick wall waiting for you to exit the building and whistling—_whistling _like he doesn't have a care in the world. He probably doesn't. He can't possibly know what you're feeling right now. You can just tell he's going to be the shittiest of shitty partners.

When he notices you walk through the door, he pushes off the wall with a black converse shoe and comes to you, a big doofy grin on his face. He has an extra spring in his step and that happy-go-lucky attitude that's just a _mockery_ of your Roxy.

His dark hair is wild and untamed, sticking up every which direction, and though he wears those poindexter rectangular glasses, you doubt the vivid jungle green eyes behind the thick lenses actually need them. He's gallivanting up to you in this long green sleuth-like jacket and khaki short-shorts that are just too sinfully short. Beneath the jacket he's wearing a plain white t-shirt with some green monster skull silk-screened on. Considering what he's here to do, you would normally give him a point for the ironies, but he's here to replace Roxy. The most you give him is a jerk of the head and a cold stare that you know he can't see from behind your sunglasses.

Despite your attempts to ward him away with your frigid demeanor, he seems surprisingly chipper. "Ah! Why hello, old chap! Delightful to meet your acquaintance!"

When you don't say anything, he sticks out his hand and says proudly, "My name is Jake English! And you are—?"

You don't bother taking his hand. "You know who I am. Don't pretend," you say, sounding a bit more aloof than usual. Though you don't have Bro's kick-ass telepathic powers (he's got a couple centuries on you) this guy _must_ know who you are.

You're right. His smile only falters a little as he withdraws his hand and instead scratches the back of his head with it awkwardly. "Ah, my apologies, old bean! Your brother did mention that your name was Dirk Strider, but I thought it only polite to introduce myself properly!"

"Forget the manners. Forget all of this, actually," you tell him. "I don't know what Bro told you, but he's full of shit. I don't need a babysitter tonight. I'm fine on my own."

"Your ah— _Bro_ didn't mention much to me, in fact!" Jake says, sounding apologetic. He averts his eyes sheepishly to the ground before reeling them back up to you. "And I assure you, I would make a terrible babysitter, my good fellow!"

"Why do you keep saying those ridiculous phrases?" You ask, beginning to grow annoyed with his manner of speech. God you hate this guy. "What _are _you? Did you literally just wake up from the 1800s?"

"My apologies again! It seems our vernacular is not quite in synch," he explains. "Where I'm from, we typically don't address people by their first names."

"No? Well, lucky for you, I've got two names," you inform him snottily.

It takes him a moment, but he brightens again when he realizes what you meant. "Oh! Of course, _Strider_!"

"There you go. And you're dismissed now, English, I don't need any help," you tell him curtly. You know you're being a little bitch, but you don't care. You _really_ don't want to deal with this guy right now.

Jake waves a piece of paper with Bro's handwriting scrawled all over it. "Have you seen the assignment? I get the feeling you might want a little help on this one."

You snatch the paper from him, decipher your Bro's godawful handwriting, and sigh. "Fine. Just this one mission, and then we're done."

"Shall I look up the bus schedule? I'm certain I have enough spare change—" he begins, digging into his pocket.

Before he can finish, you've already got your keys in your hand, jingling them in front of him. "Hell no. This is my city, I drive."

Despite the dis, the grin practically splits his face in two when he sees your keys. He winks, points his finger at you like a gun, and pretends to fire. "Shotgun!"

Shotgun was Roxy's seat, but you bite your tongue as you watch him prance ahead of you. "How do know—" you begin.

This time it's his turn to cut you off. With a knowing look, he turns back to you and flashes you an award-winning grin. "I'll find it."

* * *

**Dirk: Follow Jake to your ride**

Oh you follow all right. And your eyes are glued to that round butt in those far too short shorts the entire time. You hate Jake English. Instinctively and intellectually, you hate him.

But he does have a nice ass.

…wait, he does?

From behind your shades, you inconspicuously check out his plush rump as it sways gently back and forth. Every step accentuates those curves. Those tight fitting short shorts leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, other than how nice it would feel to slide your hand beneath them and squeeze that plump bottom.

Why yes, Jake does have a nice ass. You would know because nice asses just happen to be your thing.

You are so fucked.

Somehow he does manage to find your ride where you'd parked it a little ways down the street. He jumps into the passenger seat of your Jeep Wrangler before you even get there. You keep it door-less and roof-less for extra irony. Yeah, you could buy a fucking hummer, BMW, Viper whatever if you wanted it. Better yet, you could build it yourself. But you've always thought that people who went for those rides were compensating for something.

You've got nothing to compensate for. You're Dirk Motherfucking Strider. You'll drive a door-less and roof-less vehicle if you want to just because you can.

You hop in, start your baby up, and zip down the road.

There's a bit of a hand-slapping war as you both switch between radio stations. Jake insists on some godawful country station while you'd much prefer the deep pounding bass of club music. Eventually, after hearing one too many songs about trailers, pontoons, dogs, cats, and momma's, you shut the radio off.

"I say, Strider, it's quite a long ride," Jake says in a way that you just _know_ he's laughing at you. God you can't stand him. "You're certain you don't want to listen to anything?"

Nothing could be farther from the truth. Music is your life. Next to your swords and robotics, your sick-nasty beats are all you've got. Which reminds you, you do have a CD or two lying around. You don't ask him if he wants to listen to it. Instead, you reach behind you, feeling the floorboard underneath your seat while you keep your eyes on the road. Eventually, your fingers find what you're looking for, and you pry out a CD full of mixes you made a month or so ago.

"We're listening to this," you tell him. It's final, and when you hazard a glance over at him, you can tell that he's willing to give whatever's on your CD a shot.

A few seconds go by once you pop it in, and for a moment, you hold your breath, hoping that the floor of your Jeep hasn't scratched your CD up beyond playability.

It hasn't. Slowly, a deep thrumming bass shakes the framework of your ride. You can only grin as you drive down the deserted city streets, the bass kicking louder and louder until you swear the whole city block must be vibrating with it.

Jake sits in awe as your mixes fill the air. Not once does he reach for the radio.

* * *

**Dirk: Stare at those short shorts**

Ok. It's not like you have a soul or anything. You'll stare all day if you want to. But as Jake turns around to ask you something, you quickly avert your gaze up. Even though he can't see where your eyes are looking from behind your sunglasses, you won't be caught staring. Striders are never caught staring.

"I say, you have quite the driving moves! We made record time, Strider!" He says, walking with you to the abandoned hospital on the South Side of the City.

The walls are lined with graffiti, and the chain linked fence that supposedly separates the building from the public is broken in more places than one. The City never gave a shit about the place, and when it fell into disrepair, rather than put the money into cleaning the hospital up, they shut it down. Even though the asbestos particles shower the air every time a part of the dilapidated building breaks down, they never bothered to level the place.

As a result, it's become a rife hideout for gangs, addicts, homeless, and your least favorite—demons. It's a verifiable Candy-land for them. Nobody will miss their victims. Quite honestly, you won't either, but you know these types of demons. If you don't stop them now, then once they're strong enough, they'll leave the safe confines of the old hospital and move on to wreak havoc on the rest of the City.

Bro claims that he made this mistake once long ago. He has yet to make it again.

You hate this place. Though the scum of society has seen your face around here enough to leave you alone, it's dangerous. The building contains more than one gateway from Derse, and it seems every time you close one, another three open. To close them all tonight you'll need Jake. You hope he's as reliable as Bro seems to think he is.

"English, there's something else you need to know about this place," you tell him as you both slip through holes in the fence. "It was built a long time ago. There are some seedy characters living here, but there are innocents too. If you're not careful with those guns, you could level the place."

Jake pats his pistols and flashes you the most charming grin. "Who do you think I am, Strider?"

"I don't know. I just met you," you reply honestly.

"I'm the best shot in the world," he assures you, pointing both his fingers at you and pretending to shoot. "I never miss."

"Good," you mutter, finally standing next to one of the rusty doors, hanging open just a few inches. "You ready?"

"Born ready," he says. When you glance back at him, you see that his eyes are full of a passionate energy that tells you, yes, he really meant that. And he probably watches far too many bad action movies. You'll have to pester him about that later.

Slowly, you creak open the door and slip inside.

Instantly, you're accosted with webs. More webs than you think you've ever seen in this place. You inwardly groan. Serket has outdone herself this time. You'll have to watch your step carefully.

You and Jake manage to make your way through the webs, locating Derse portals in the broiler room and in a janitorial closet without any incident. With the right incantations you close the portals and move along.

"This isn't right," you mutter quietly. "Usually the place is crawling with goons, so _where are they?_"

Jake glances around, sniffing lightly as you walk down another abandoned hallway. Ok, that was a little weird, but whatever. His ass makes up for it. "I think they're all in one location. Down there," he replies, indicating toward a hallway.

"Oh great," you sigh. "My favorite place."

A minute later you find yourself in front of your (least) favorite place in the building.

The psych ward.

The doors were once painted with a vibrant blue that is now chipped and rusting through. Several gangs have marked the doors with their graffiti, but you don't care about that at all right now. The thick mesh of spiderwebs covering the door has you far more concerned.

You turn to Jake before you enter, filling him in on just who is inside. "Vriska Serket is in there. She's the spider queen with a mean taste for flesh. Hope you're not easily disgusted, because you're probably going to see some pretty heavy stuff inside."

"No sir. It will take far more than a spider to get to this old fellow!" Jake announces happily, pointing to himself with his thumb.

"Good," you respond. "She'll have a lot of goons, but they'll follow her down. When she goes, they go too. Try not to let too many of them stick to you or they'll slow you down."

"Strider," Jake says, his voice sounding a bit impatient. "I've done my homework on Miss Serket. Can we get this shamboozle started?"

You grin. You just might be starting to like him. "In three. 3, 2, 1—"

You both kick through the doors at the same time. Inside is a den of nightmares. Spiderwebs fill every part of the room, to the point where you're nearly choking on them in the air. Mangled forms of Vriska's victims hang from the ceilings and walls, dripping innards and blood in messy pools all over the floor.

Her spider goons are everywhere, dangling from webs in the air, crawling on the floor. Twisted nightmares with sharp spindly legs and the faces of human babies. They're all Vriska's babies, and she adores them.

They disgust you. An instant after you're inside, you've pulled your katana from its sheath, slicing through two of the creatures in one sweep. They shriek horrible high pitched screams, curling in on themselves as they expire.

Jake is firing his pistols loudly beside you, and true to his word, he doesn't miss once. Each kill is clean through the head, the bullet lodging firmly into the spider's body where it can do no harm. You would take a moment to be impressed with that, but you don't have a moment. Every second you are purely _alive_, flash stepping from one part of the room to the next, swiping the spiders down from their nests and ending them. You count five open Derse rifts in the room before you flash step back to Jake.

"Cover me," you command lowly. "I'm closing these rifts."

Before you can move, something huge crashes down from the ceiling in front of you. The spider's body is mammoth, easily five times your size. The twisted torso of a fully grown female protrudes from where the spider's head should be, her clawed hands on her hips. Vriska Serket's mess of dark blue hair covers the bad eye you gave her years ago, the first time you killed her, as she stares creepily down at you. "You're going to do what now, Diiiiiiiirk Striiiiiiiider?"

"I'm closing these rifts," you repeat calmly, though you know she heard you the first time. "And I'm sending you back to Derse."

Vriska cackles in delight, pointing a clawed finger at you. "iiiiiiii'd like to see you try," she says coyly. Then her eye widens and she screams, "GET THEM!"

Instantly all the horrible spider baby abominations are upon you, accosting both you and Jake faster than you can kill them. Vriska must have hidden here for quite some time to build a nest this large. Though you swipe at them, killing several with every move, they're all over your arms and legs, crawling down your back and into your hair. Jake seems to be faring no better than you, and Vriska's cackles fill the air.

Suddenly, there's an eruption of flames besides you. You turn your head just in time to see Jake posed like Rambo with a large flamethrower-looking gun in his hands. You're not sure where he got that from, but he's incinerating all those Derse-spawn with it so you don't care. "Strider!" he shouts. "I've got this! You handle the rifts!"

You nod at him as best you can from beneath all the spiders and flash step away, detaching most of the spiders from you in the flurry of speed. You circle the room quickly and return to where Jake is poised in front of the first rift. It only takes a few seconds for you to close the rift and then you're moving on. One by one you close the rifts, rushing into abandoned room after abandoned room until only the largest one is left.

Of course, Vriska is guarding that one, her gigantic body hanging menacingly on a well-built web above it. Jake's flames only seem to incense her fury further, and she swipes at you with long spindly claws, nearly catching you a couple times. There's no way you can get close enough to close the rift beneath her.

You know what Roxy would do. She would taunt Vriska and infuriate her. She would make the horrible spider bitch spin until she was dizzy and strike when she was least expecting it. She'd find a way to get Vriska to kill herself. If Roxy were here, you'd be halfway home by now.

But Roxy isn't here. She's never coming back, and you're going to have to deal with it. You'll have to figure out another way to get Vriska and—

The loud sound of a shotgun going off next to your ear draws you away from your angst filled thoughts. Jake has discarded his flamethrower, the spider creatures all dead around you, and he's chosen a new weapon. It was a good shot, but Vriska has some sort of demonic forcefield around her now. Seems like she learned from the last time. The time you took her eye.

Jake isn't about to be deterred. In fact, he seems only more energetic as he reloads. He doesn't even seem to aim before he shoots again.

Nothing happens.

"I thought you never miss?" You comment, your douchiness coming out despite the fact that you've been pretty much worthlessly wallowing in your remorse the last couple minutes while Jake does all the work.

"I don't," he says confidently, looking at something above.

You follow his gaze and see that Vriska's web is quickly coming undone around her. The stringy threads unlock from those attached to the walls, circling around the giant spider in the middle again and again. With every circle, Vriska drops lower and lower. By the time she realizes what is happening, she's screaming as she tries in vain to claw at her web and pull herself up. Little does she realize that in doing so she's only dislodging the web faster, and in one final screech, she falls into the rift below.

You're quick to seal that motherfucker off, cleansing the world of Vriska Serket once again.

"It's a shame," Jake comments offhandedly, stashing away his weapons into holsters that you realize had been on him the whole time. "I quite like spiders, and I think Vriska would be swell company if she were just a tad less evil."

"That makes one of us," you reply, kicking a dead spider aside as you make your way out of this hellish hospital ward.

Jake follows you out wordlessly. It isn't until you reach the Jeep that he finally asks, "I say, Strider, do you always take lengthy breaks in the middle of a duel?"

"No," you respond, not knowing what else to say. In truth, you're a little embarrassed of your actions, or rather, lack of actions. Roxy's death shouldn't have hit you so hard. You told your Bro it hadn't, and a Strider always keeps his word.

"Right, jolly good," he says, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Because I would hate to have to go easy on you."

"Wha—" is all you can manage to say before Jake tackles you to the ground.

* * *

**Dirk: Strife**

The City's South Side is not really your ideal setting for a strife, but Jake apparently doesn't seem to care. He's fighting you with just his fists, and you get the feeling it wouldn't be sporting if you fought with anything besides yours.

Jake is a lot stronger than he looks, and since you weren't expecting the attack, it isn't long before he has you pinned to the ground, grinning wolfishly down at you. "That's one point for Team English! Maybe next time you can show me some of that legendary Strider skill." He says, letting you up with a wink.

You want to grumble about how that wasn't fair, but he did give you some warning, which is more than Bro ever does. Whatever, you just want to get out of this place. You shrug your shoulders, readjusting your plain black t-shirt, and get back in the Jeep.

When you get back to the lounge, Bro shakes his head at you. He places his pen down on the desk where he was working. Even though he's largely given up fighting the good fight and moved to pencil-pushing for years now, seeing him sitting behind a desk filled with papers still looks strange to you. You really think he belongs on the battlefield with a katana in his hand. No doubt centuries ago he fought in some epic war with his katana alone. You think that if he were with you tonight, like the old times, you wouldn't have had any trouble.

Bro doesn't hesitate to flatly say, "good thing _Jake_ was there." He purposely emphasizes Jake's name, making it clear to you that he really means to say "_you're fucking lucky I gave you a partner._"

Stupid mind-readers.

"I'd have been fine," you insist.

Bro snorts, "yeah, if by fine you mean filleted open by one Vriska Serket." He shakes his head, bowing his head in thought for a moment before he says, "I'm sending you home for the night."

"What?!" You exclaim. "Then what was all that bullshit earlier about needing me, huh?"

"You took out Vriska, the toughest mark of the night. Dave and the others can handle the rest," Bro explains calmly. It takes him another moment before he speaks again. It's a sort of hesitation that makes you extremely wary of what he's about to say next. "Jake's coming home with you."

"Fuck no!" you exclaim again, on the verge of losing your Strider cool. Bro angles his head at you in a warning sort of way, and you realize what you're doing, forcing yourself to calm back down. You try again, this time in a much more level tone. "Nah Bro, I can handle myself. I don't need Jake babysitting me. Besides, he said he's a terrible babysitter."

"I am," Jake agrees.

"Shut it, English," Bro snaps at him, then looks back at you. "You'll take Jake back with you because he doesn't have anywhere else to stay right now. He's come a long way on short notice. Until we get a more permanent living situation figured out for him, the least you can do is show him some fucking hospitality for saving your life."

Bro has a point. He always does. But that doesn't mean you have to like it.

You don't grace him with another word before turning to leave. Bro knows that you've resigned yourself to your fate.

Jake English is coming home with you tonight, bringing with him his fine ass and horrible taste in movies.

You get the feeling this is the beginning of something both amazing and terrible.

* * *

LateNiteSlacker's Notes:

Thanks for reading my first Homestuck fic! The supernatural elements are inspired by this story's publish date: Halloween! There will be lots of action, adventure, and romance on this zany ride. The rating may change to reflect some graphic scenes in later chapters. Hope that you stick with it and enjoy!


	2. A Strider's Weakness

**Chapter 2: A Strider's Weakness**

* * *

**Dirk: Show Jake around your place**

You twist the key in the door to your apartment and shove the door hard with your shoulder to get it to open. The smell of stale cigarette smoke from the apartment below greets you, and you don't bother kicking off your shoes before walking in. Jake follows on your heels like a puppy dog, his eyes wide as he glances around. Inside is your wonderland of smuppets, robotics, empty orange soda cans, and shitty _shitty_ swords. You blame Dave for the latter. When he moved out, he never bothered to take his shitty collection with him, and you never bothered to clean them up. Whatever, you'll sneak them into his refrigerator sometime when he's least expecting it.

Lazily, you gesture with a single wave, "home sweet home. It's not much, but it's all I need."

Jake's eyes are wide, and his gaze flitters around the room from one thing to the next in a matter of seconds. It's almost enough to make your head spin. He shifts his green duffle bag around on his shoulder as he looks around, finally silent for once. The entire ride home he talked your ear off about one movie or another, and your guess was right. He has absolutely horrible taste in movies. You'll have to change that.

You sweep aside a few smuppets and flop down on the second-hand futon in your living room, flipping on the TV with a lovably worn-in remote. "Bathroom's down the hall to the left. My room's on the end, but there's a spare on the right you can use."

"Right," he says, making his way down the hall. A moment later, his head pokes out from the hallway. "Oh, and thanks Strider! Letting me stay here and all. It's all quite dandy of you!"

You give him an obligatory nod before he turns and heads back down the hallway. What an odd fellow. You find yourself grinning at the thought of his peculiar mannerisms while you surf the channels, as usual finding nothing very interesting on. You'd turn it off, but it's so early that you're not ready to sleep yet. You need something else to kill the time.

As you deliberate what to do, the sound of Jake's light humming reaches your ears. He must be in the shower. He hums in the shower? How cute.

Then, you realize exactly _what _he's humming. Ever so slightly, a frown ceases your lips and your eyes narrow a bit in disapproval. He's humming the Top Gun theme, and you just have to shake your head. No no no. He's got to see some real cinema.

* * *

**Dirk: Introduce Jake to real cinema**

Ten minutes later, Jake is sitting next to you on the futon, eating the remnants of your leftover Chinese takeout from yesterday with a plastic fork. For you, it's ramen noodles, which always seem to hit the spot when you're too lazy to make anything else or order a pizza.

Yes, you can eat. What do you think you are, a vampire? No, you'll not be lumped with them.

You turn to Jake after that odd thought about yourself and ask, "are you ready for a masterpiece in cinema?"

The answer is it doesn't matter if he's ready or not. You've already pressed the play button. But he grins anyway and says, "bring it on, Strider!"

The theme music begins to play, and Jake is already on the edge of his seat, slowly slurping a chow mein noodle. It's difficult for you to peel your eyes off him for some reason, but you do, and none too soon. The movie's finally revealed.

Commando. Starring Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The ironies couldn't get any better. Back when you actually had time to chill with Dave and Bro, the three of you would sit through Arnold marathons, dubbing over parts and cracking jokes the whole way. It was fun. And though you do make a few comments through the movie, the way Jake's eyes are glued to the screen slows your usual banter.

He actually likes it. Really likes it. And not in the ironic way either. You're starting to wonder what you've gotten yourself into having Jake English as a roommate.

When the movie ends, Jake practically whoops with glee. "Strider! That was fantastic! Tell me you have more of these _Arnold_ films!"

You do. Through all the years, you and your bros have collected them all. Even the shitty ones like Twins and Junior.

Jake happily sits with you through Predator and Total Recall before you're finally starting to feel the stress of the day wearing on you. As a Strider, you would never admit it, but Roxy's death has hit you much harder than you would like. And after the close scrape with Vriska, you're ready to hit the sack.

A glance over at Jake's drooping eyelids tells you that he's feeling about the same way. He notices you staring and grins sheepishly. His two front teeth are a little bigger than the rest, and they peek out when he smiles in what you can only describe as an adorable way.

…wait, adorable? Fuuuuuuuck.

"Sorry, Strider! It seems the old noggin isn't what it used to be!" Jake apologizes between a yawn. "All these movies are quite fine, but I'm afraid that plane trip right knocked me on my bottom!"

You want to make a comment about his bottom. You don't.

"S'fine," you say, standing when he stands, absently flicking off the TV. "Knowing Bro, he has an action packed day planned for us tomorrow. You'll need your sleep."

"Oh I hope so! That's precisely why I transferred here!" Jake says enthusiastically. Before he closes the door to his room, he says, "goodnight Strider. Sleep well."

"Yeah you too," you echo, closing your door and falling into bed. Seconds later, you're asleep.

* * *

**Dirk: Let Jake wake you up**

What? No. Why would you do that?

You roll over, smelling something unusual in the house. Something you've only smelled the few times Roxy slept over.

Breakfast.

Your feet carry you to the bathroom first where you make sure you're halfway presentable (you're a Strider damnit and you've _always _got to look your best) before trundling groggily into your kitchen. What greets you just might be the most beautiful sight you've seen in a while.

Pancakes. Piles and piles of pancakes. If you had to guess, you'd say Jake must have been at this for at least an hour or two already. There are chocolate chip pancakes, blueberry pancakes, strawberry, banana, and is that _peanut butter?_ Yes, you think so.

Jake smiles at you when you flop into one of your kitchen chairs, just staring at the piles of deliciousness all around you. "I do say, Strider, your kitchen needed a little bit of work. I noticed last night that all you seem to carry in your refrigerator is orange soda. I hope you don't mind me taking the liberty to hit the local market this morning and stock up!"

"Not one fucking bit," you agree.

Market. Who says fucking market? Jake English says market. Despite your hatred of his lingo yesterday, you're finding that it doesn't seem to bother you today. The fact that he made you breakfast probably has something to do with it.

Jake notices you staring and laughs. "Well don't just gawk at them! Dig in!"

You do. Jake already has paper plates set out for you, and you waste no time grabbing one and inhaling what's in front of you. You hadn't realized how ravenous you were, but you guess it makes sense. After all, you only had coffee and ramen yesterday.

Jake finishes flipping the last of his pancakes and sits with you, eating his food cleanly with a green plastic fork and knife. Did you not have any silverware in your kitchen? You seem to think you do, but maybe it's all dirty?

Whatever. You don't care. Pancakes now.

"Jake, this idea was the best idea," you inform him between large bites.

"Good! You'll need your energy," he says, tilting his head and grinning in a way that makes you suspicious. "I hear we have quite a day ahead of us."

"Who did you hear that from?" you question, wondering why Bro hadn't bothered to tell you anything.

"Only from the coolest sexiest Strider on the face of this planet."

You know that voice. Wordlessly, you raise your fist in the air.

Dave meets it with a fist bump then slides into a seat at the table next to you.

"Long time no see, lil' bro," you say, offering Dave a paper plate that somehow got stuck under yours. "We're working together today?"

Dave accepts the plate, selects one of each type of pancake, stacks them on top of each other, and digs into them all together. "Yep, all four of us."

"John's here too?" You question, looking around for his signature little bright ball of blue.

It's then that you notice one of Dave's shirt pockets squirming and spasming. You hadn't bothered to listen harder, but now that you do, you can hear a tiny voice exclaiming, "_Dave! This is so NOT funny! I want pancakes too damn it! Don't make me burn a hole in your shirt! I'll do it, I swear. I'll do it twenty times."_

"He sounds pretty pissed," you comment, accepting a cup of coffee when Jake offers it to you. When did he even make that? Sneaky bastard.

The corner of Dave's lips curl ever so slightly, and you know that he's _highly_ amused. Slowly, almost as if he's enjoying taking his time, he unzips the pocket, murmuring, "you gonna say shit about my shoes again?"

"_No! Fuck your shoes! Like I even care about your stinky twink-ass kicks!_"

Tiny hands slap on top of Dave's index finger, pushing the zipper open faster. As soon as he can, John squirms out of the small opening in Dave's pocket and flops onto his hands and knees on the tabletop, coughing up little particles of lint. "Dude, don't you ever *hack hack* do that again, or I *wheeze* _swear_ I will wreck _all your shirts!_"

Dave actually does smirk at this, commenting, "of course, who wouldn't want to see this primo slab of meat without a shirt?"

John is tiny, smaller than your hand. Despite that, he stands proudly at his full four inches of height, his light blue pixie wings fluttering as he shakes an enraged fist at Dave. Like Roxy, John chooses not to dress in the typical pixie garb. He's fond of the color blue, and he wears what looks like really comfy blue pajamas, complete with a little blue hood so he can curl up and fall asleep anywhere he chooses. Even you've gotta admit it was cute the few times you caught him sleeping on Dave's chest as the three of you and Roxy all crammed onto your futon to watch crappy action flicks.

You are Dirk Strider, and nothing gets by you. You know your little bro's in love, even if he has yet to say it. Maybe it's because they haven't been able to take their relationship to any level at all, so to speak. Unlike Roxy, John is much younger, and he still hasn't learned to change his height at will. You haven't asked, but you know it's been a source of frustration for both him and Dave. Literally. Heh.

But you almost think it's better this way. In your line of work, there's no telling if you will live to see another day. If Dave were ever to get as close to John as you were to Roxy—

You mentally scold yourself for thinking about it. No. You won't go there. And you don't want your little bro to ever have to go through the pain you're feeling right now.

You realize that they've been bickering back and forth, while Jake continues to eat his pancakes and watch in amusement. Before they can continue their little quarrel, you clear your throat, drawing everyone's attention to you. "Dave, you were saying we've gotta work together on this one?"

"Yeah, Bro says it's some demon. Damara Megido?" Dave says, lilting his statement into a question, as he's never run into her before.

You still, a cold chill running down your spine.

Slowly, Dave actually lowers his shades an inch, staring at you with his deep wine-red eyes. "Dude, did you just _pale_ _even more?_ How is that _even possible?_"

"Damara," you murmur coarsely. You actually do feel the blood draining from your face. "I can see why he wants us to work together."

"Care to fill a bro in?" he asks.

"You were sleeping last time she resurfaced. It had to be at least a century ago," you say, resting your coffee on the table, forgotten. "Damara is crafty, resourceful, and psychotic as hell."

"And that makes her different from all the other demons we fight how?" Dave asks.

"Damara preys on men with our very weakness," you say gravely, leveling your gaze at Dave with the utmost seriousness. "We almost lost Bro that day."

Nobody says a word. They're all waiting for you to continue.

"Bro and I used to be a team. We were unstoppable. But after that, after we both almost died, he decided that we shouldn't be anymore. That's why we have teams of misfits like we do now. If the enemy preys on the weakness of one, then the other can finish the job," you explain.

It's common knowledge, but you feel like now would be a good time to remind everyone, including the newcomer Jake, about why you work the way you do. You glance briefly over at Jake. You know he isn't like you, but you haven't been able to place exactly what he is yet. You have no idea what his strengths or weaknesses are. But you're not worried. In due time, you'll figure it out.

You turn to Dave and continue, "we woke you up shortly after that. Remember how Bro was really weak those first few months? Damara is why."

"Dave, is that true?" John asks quietly. His brows are furrowed in concern and whatever argument they were having before is completely forgotten. "Is she really that big of a danger to you?"

"After all that talk of letting me get my beauty rest until all the big bad demons were gone, they couldn't resist waking this handsome hunk of Strider up early," Dave admits, his tone far more serious than his playful words. Despite his big talk, you know Dave is scared.

Clearly, John has learned to interpret your little bro too, because he rests a hand on one of Dave's knuckles. He reassures him, "don't worry, I'll look out for you, Dave."

You realize that Jake hasn't said anything in a while, and when you turn to face him, you're surprised to see that even he looks a little flustered. "What about you, English? You gonna be ok?"

"Of-of course!" Jake stammers, suddenly alert. He flashes a charismatic grin at you as he says, "Damara won't get the best of me!"

Sensing that there's more to the story than he's letting on, you angle your head, gazing closer at him through your shades. You might not have Bro's telepathic abilities, but you know how to stare someone down until he spills.

It takes exactly 2.3 seconds before Jake swallows and continues, "I mean, she does seem to have some sort of—obsession? With me? I couldn't tell you why, but it hasn't stopped me from kicking her arse back to Derse where it belongs!"

You barely know Jake, and yet his words shake you a bit more than you'd care to admit. Somehow you get the feeling it takes a lot to crack that cheerful adventurous spirit of his, but you scoff it off saying, "Damara has an interest in all men. Just be on your guard."

* * *

**Dirk: Find that bitch and kill her**

Yep, that's exactly what you're about to do. Everyone's piled into your Jeep, and your sick beats are filling the air. None of you speak during the trip. Thoughts of Bro's broken and bleeding form haunt your memories, but you force yourself to shake out of it and actually pay attention to the road. A glimpse into the rear-view mirror tells you that Dave is lying down across the back seat, trying to give off an air of nonchalance that he clearly isn't feeling. John's curled up on his shoulder, and he's saying something but you can't hear it over the roar of the wind and your sweet jams. Jake is more subdued than you've ever seen him. You half expected him to be blathering on about some film or another, but tonight he's oddly silent.

You follow your instincts to the Red-Light District. Drug abusers and seedy groups of people are hanging around the streets, wide awake despite the time of night. Painted ladies that you're certain you've seen on these streets for years share the corner with girls that can't be over fourteen. The whole scene disgusts you.

Once Cronus made some lewd innuendo about you frequenting these streets, and you cracked him so hard that he never made that comment again. You had informed Cronus that, unlike him, you would never stoop to this level. You definitely wouldn't use the damaged women (and men) that sell themselves here.

As you slowly prowl the streets, in search of your mark, Bro calls your cell. "Sup?" You answer with your typical air of Strider-brand cool.

"_Hey, lil bro, you doin' ok?"_ Bro asks. He sounds a little more concerned than usual. You're really starting to get sick of it.

"Right as rain," you assure him, shifting the phone between your shoulder and neck more comfortably. "Why?"

"_I've been thinking about it. I want you to tell Dave to go home. I'll send someone else to take his place tonight."_

"Don't think he'll listen, but I'll pass the word," you say, leaning back a bit in your seat. "Hey Dave, feel like going home for the night?"

"Nah man," Dave waves nonchalantly. "You already dragged me down to this cesspit of the _city_. We're doing this shit, no matter how _shitty_. We're deep in this bitch like a shark in the _sea_. That's you and me, fightin' till etern_ity_."

Dave continues to rap/ramble on, but you ignore him and turn your attention back to Bro. "He said no," you relay simply.

"_Haha, very funny,_" Bro says, clearly not amused. "_You know what I mean. Turn around and kick him out of your ride. Leave him at home._"

"And waste another hour of my night? Don't think so," you say. You're not really sure why you're arguing with Bro on this one. He's making the right call, and in a moment, he's bound to tell you what you know already. There's a reason you and Dave shouldn't be on this assignment.

"_Look I made a mistake giving Damara to both of you, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? I fucked up, but that doesn't mean you have to too. Send Dave home,_" Bro says, his voice growing a little bit more strained than usual. You get the feeling that if you were sitting next to him right now and could actually see him, he'd be sweating bullets. A few veins in his neck are probably puffed out like usual when he's angry and is trying not to show it. "_Dave and you are both weak against Damara. You saw what she did to me. I don't want to lose both of you._"

"Well, you should have thought about that a little sooner," you respond. Your voice is growing thinner, because you can see the object of your bane clearly down the street now. Your vision is better than most, including demons of the night like yourself. You're not sure why, but you suspect that years of wearing shades have trained your already enhanced eyes to concentrate on what's important, blocking out the rest. So it's not hard for you to find who you're looking for, even though she's a mile away. Unfortunately, the demon you're looking for is one of the few with better eyesight than you. If you can see her, no doubt she can see you.

Down past the usual hookers and drug dealers, crack addicts, and homeless winos, there's a lady in red. Her black hair is twisted into a bun with curved golden chopsticks. The painted red smile on her lips matches the color of her eye-shadow and her Oriental-flavored crimson dress. Set deep into her hair are a pair of curling yellow-orange horns. Though horns are definitely not your thing, something about them is _very _attractive on her. So is her dress. And her coy little smile. And—

You recognize the beginnings of Damara's spell and pull yourself out of it with a quick sharp breath. She sees you struggling from all the way down the block and grins malevolently. With a single index finger, she beacons you forward and disappears inside one of the buildings.

"Bro, she's here. It's too late now, she's seen us all," you rationalize, feeling as though you really shouldn't be disobeying your Bro's orders. You know he has your best interests in mind, but you can't help it. You know that you and Dave are the best on the force. It would be murder to send anyone else on this mission. Besides, you really want to get this bitch back for what she did to Bro.

"_Dirk! Don't go! Listen, I'll get some other guys in there and—"_

"Gotta go. Later," you murmur, ending the call and shoving your phone back into your pocket.

"Bro's gonna be pissed at you later," Dave remarks from where he's still lying in the back.

"If that's my biggest problem, I'll be glad," you answer honestly. You almost wish you hadn't, because Dave sits up suddenly, his mouth in a hard line. John is flittering about more than usual, and even Jake is quietly staring down into his lap at his hands. You sigh, "look, we're not gonna die tonight. So stop having a pity party, all of you. We just have to look out for each other."

They don't say anything as you pull your vehicle to the side of the road, parking close to the building she disappeared into. You unbuckle yourself and turn back to face all of them. "Damara's specialty is sex appeal. She's a succubus that's been around several millennia. Her psychic abilities are through the roof, and she can control both the living and the dead." You turn solemnly to everyone in turn. "It sounds bad, but really she's just another demon. If we have each other's backs, we'll be able to take her down. Dave, no showboating."

He scoffs, "like I'd ever—"

"You would. Don't," you say, cutting him off. "Alright. Are we ready to do this?"

Three solemn nods and you're ready to go.

* * *

**Dirk: Find that bitch and kill her faster!**

You're working on it, ok? Sometimes things just need a little set-up first.

The building Damara Megido disappeared into is, not surprisingly, abandoned. It looks like this place used to be a den of pleasures, but it's fallen into disrepair. Ripped red and gold satin fabric hangs from the ceilings and walls, and half-burned and stained oriental rugs partially cover the grimy cement floors. The air is oddly filled with the scent of incense, which leaves you with a strange heady feeling.

Realizing that it's probably just another part of Damara's magic, you shake your head, ignoring the scent as best you can.

The front room is lit, but all the others are dark. You dig back into your memory of the last time you faced Damara. You don't think she had any minions in her hideout, just a few ghosts of the past that she used to torment you. While the ghosts of your dead parents didn't really do much to you (you barely knew them) they did a number on Bro. It was easy for Damara to get her claws into him after that.

There is a dilapidated wooden stairway in the center of the room leading up. The light is on upstairs. You know this is a set-up. It always it, but there isn't much you can do about it. With a silent jerk of your head, you signal to the others and lead the way up.

The second floor isn't much better off than the first. Crimson runners that are dusty and threadbare traverse lengthy hallways that lead to more darkened rooms. Ahead of you is another staircase, with the light lit above.

You travel up five stories of the building in this manner before you finally hit the top floor. In front of you is a large set of wooden double doors, ornately painted with cracked swirling gold. You know what's behind those doors.

Jake happens to be beside you. He silently slips his pistols from their holders and nods at you. You mouth, "_3, 2, 1_."

Simultaneously you both kick in the double doors. The scent of incense washes over you like a powerful tidal wave. From behind the haze, you can see that Damara is splayed across a giant bed, angling her hips up at you suggestively as she beacons you forward. Her eyes are narrow lust-filled slits, and when she speaks, you're not surprised to find that it's in Japanese. But thanks to a very (non)-ironic love of Japanese Anime that you and your bros had decades ago, you all learned to speak it fluently. "_Come to me…_" she croons.

Like you'd go anywhere else. You have to put this bitch down.

You're the first to move. Brandishing your katana, you jump into the air and drive the blade right through where she was laying on the bed.

Damara tisks besides you murmuring sultrily in Japanese, "_you want to penetrate me? How lovely. Why don't you use your other sword instead?"_ Her hand finds your crotch and gives it a light squeeze.

You slice your katana through the air she was just occupying, but she's already drifted away, laughing. Dave comes at her next, but just like you, his blade meets with empty air. Damara taunts him just like she taunted you, running a finger up the side of his cheek, squeezing his thigh, leaving light little strokes all over his body as he futilely attempts to slice away at her.

John takes a turn next, swinging at her with his gigantic Zillyhoo hammer that he's somehow magically materialized. Again, she's too fast for him, and even when Dave and John try to tag-team her, she still gets the better of them.

She's just too fast. Your Strider-speed lets you keep up with her, but that's about all you can do. Damara's millennia of age have only increased her power, and she's even faster than you remember. A glance over at Jake tells you that he's struggling to get a clean shot, squinting through those thick glasses of his. He keeps refocusing, his lips set in a grim line. You think you hear him murmur, "blast—!"

She finally leaves Dave and John alone, materializing back on the bed, kicking her heels up almost playfully as she swishes a foot in the air. "_How exhilarating! I haven't had this many boys to play with in centuries! But I can't steal all the fun. Why don't we have a beautiful orgy?_"

No sooner does she utter the words when the incense smoke hanging in the air begins to condense. Slowly, it forms into people of the past, demons that should haunt your nightmares. Your parents are back, holding their arms out to you, mouthing your name and Dave's name silently. It's a little eerie, but like last time, it does little to affect you. You barely knew them.

Dave doesn't even seem to recognize them, he's more distracted by John, who is freaking out as a whole flock of dead fairies circle around him. There are a lot more pixies than Striders, so you're not surprised that so many of John's friends and family have died in his lifetime.

You don't have time to worry about Dave and John, they'll take care of each other. You turn quickly to Jake, about to tell him to snap out of it.

But there aren't any ghosts around Jake. Instead, Damara is beside him, running her hands along his thigh, licking his cheek, and worshiping his ass in a way that makes your eyes narrow. "_My Lord…_" Damara moans in Japanese. You wonder if Jake can even understand her. "_I'll be your dirty little cum-slut. Come, let us fuck beneath the full moon. You can plunge your dick in my little cunt-hole doggy-style in the hayloft of a barn or fuck my mouth next to the roaring sea-shore. I'll do anything for you, my Lord English…_"

Damara works her way back around to his front, keeping his hands pinned to his side as she places a full kiss on his lips. You sense some sinister power being passed between them, foul and green. Jake's struggling, but he has yet to fire his pistols. You wonder what the deal is and if he was being completely honest with you earlier when he said he wouldn't have any problem kicking her ass.

Before you can contemplate it further, the ghosts of your parents are in front of you again, whispering your name, reaching out for you. But you suddenly don't care about them anymore. If the ghosts of the past are here to haunt you, then there's one particular ghost you really want to see.

Where is Roxy?

You turn around, searching the room frantically. You hadn't realized it, but the room has slowly filled with souls of the dead, all miserably floating around. You don't see her anywhere. She isn't even amongst the pixie ghosts haunting John.

_Where is Roxy?_

The question is so powerful in your mind that Damara looks over at you, despite still fawning over Jake. If you were more yourself right now, you would wonder how her psychic abilities compare to Bro's. "_Where is who, now? Which deceased soul would you like me to use in your torment?_"

"Roxy!" You shout after her, wondering why you're getting so worked up over this. You never lose your cool like this, but you're actually starting to panic a little. Where is she? She was your best friend. She should be here. Where is Roxy?

One of Damara's dark brows arches elegantly, but she doesn't respond to you.

It couldn't piss you off more. You switch to speaking Japanese, desperate to get the demon's attention, "_Damara Megido! Where the hell is she?! Where is Roxy?!_"

You don't see it when Damara detaches herself from Jake. You're so worked up that you only realize she's moved when she's right behind you. Her voice is low and sultry, and you feel her breath on the shell of your ear as she murmurs, "_Sorry, Dirk. Roxy isn't here._"

Suddenly your whole torso is on fire. You gasp, tasting blood in your mouth as you glance down. Damara's thin dark claws are speared through your torso, puncturing your lungs, stomach, spleen, intestines… everything feels like it's on fire. As she withdraws her claws from you, you fall onto the bed, gasping as you bleed out, leaving a crimson pool on the creamy silk sheets.

You're vaguely aware of Dave screaming, tackling Damara and doubling his efforts to slice her with his blade. John is still wigging out over the dead fairies, and where is Jake? Oh, he's already by your side, pressing his hands on your wounds. You're not sure what he's trying to do, you've got twenty holes in your body where she sunk her claws through you. You feel your body healing, but it's not going to be fast enough. You'll lose too much blood, and by the time you're patched up, you'll be worthless in this fight.

"Jake, forget me, I'll heal," you manage to whisper weakly before you're overcome with hackling coughs, blood speckling the sheets with every painful heave. "Help Dave!" you gasp.

You've been keeping an eye on Dave's fight with Damara, and it doesn't look pretty. She already has him pinned to the ground, straddling his torso with her thighs as she pins his wrists down with her clawed hands. "_Oh look! A baby Strider. I've always wondered what it would be like to fuck a baby._"

You try to shout at her, to tell her to leave Dave alone, but all that comes out is another blood-wracked cough.

She's kissing him now. Kissing the life out of your lil' bro, but he doesn't even realize it. You can tell that he's getting caught in her spell. The seconds tick by like hours as she plunges her tongue into his mouth, rolling her hips along his cock suggestively.

You're not sure how much time has gone by, and it scares you. What the fuck is Jake doing? Why isn't he helping Dave? Why do you have to helplessly watch this?

She must have dug her metaphorical claws pretty deeply into him, because when Damara lets him go, Dave doesn't struggle. They both have their arms wrapped possessively around each other now. He's sucking back greedily, pulling her closer to him. He's completely wrapped up in her spell, but you have to wonder if he would keep going anyway, even if he wasn't.

Because Dave's stealing the life from her too.

Because Dave's a STRIDER, just like Bro and just like you.

You know what's going through his mind even without Bro's telepathy, because you know what you are.

You're an incubus.

Watching Dave feed is not something you really care to see, but you're even less pleased about this tug of war. Usually his life isn't on the line. Usually it's you telling him to pull back before he kills someone, not the other way around. This time, you can't tell who's winning.

It scares the shit out of you, because you think you know the answer. You don't think it's your lil' bro. Damara has a few millennia on Dave, and no doubt she's just playing with him.

You try to warn him, you try to get Jake to go and help him, but for some reason Jake still isn't moving. Weakly, you raise your arm to try and get Damara's attention back to you, but you've lost too much blood. You can't move. You can only watch.

As you feared, suddenly, Dave is thrashing below her. He's struggling, but he's growing weaker and weaker and…

Suddenly a giant bright ball of blue collides with the side of Damara's head, knocking her off Dave and sending her crashing into the wall. John is fluttering in the air just above Dave and brandishing his ridiculously bright blue Zillyhoo hammer, which is easily 100 times his size. You never knew he was capable of the menacing way he growls, "Get _off_ my _**boyfriend**__!_"

While Damara is reeling from the unexpected blow, John is quick to deliver another to her. And another. With each crack, you hear her bones snapping, her body breaking into a useless heap of flesh. He pounds the fucking shit out of her, and you couldn't be happier that your lil' bro's boyfriend is a fairy.

When she's finally laying in a bleeding heap on the ground, her body twisted in ways that shouldn't be possible, Jake finally rises to his feet. Slowly, he walks over to her, cocking the hammer of his pistol and aiming it at her head.

The wicked grin never once leaves Damara's face. "_See you in Hell, my Lord._"

Two shots, clean through the brain and the heart, and she's gone. Damara's Megido's body bursts into dust, leaving a fine powder on the ground.

John flutters a bit in the air and coughs on the particles. "Ugh, do they always have to _explode?_"

Dave wobbles to his feet. He looks a little weak, but he's ok. That's all you really cared about. You can relax now.

Jake's at your side again. You think he's saying your name, but you're not sure. You think you feel yourself being lifted up in the air as the world fades to black.

* * *

**LateNiteSlacker's notes:**

Just so we're clear, this is not the end of the story! Take that as you will. ;)


	3. For the Sake of Everyone

**Chapter 3: For the sake of everyone**

* * *

**Jake: Drive Dirk's Jeep**

What did you just call this automobile? You're not sure how the vehicles work here, or why everyone insists on driving on the wrong side of the road. And why Dirk doesn't even have doors or a roof on his vehicle is really beyond you. No, you'd better leave the driving to Dave.

You're not sure what happened back there. You think about it as you hold Dirk's limp form tightly in the back seat. He's lost a lot of blood, and quite frankly you're worried about him. You'd best get him back to Bro as quickly as possible. Dave seems to be doing a fine job of just that, driving at reckless speeds that even Dirk didn't attempt.

John's saying something to Dave, glancing nervously back at you two, but you can't for the life of you tell what he's saying. Passed out Dirk isn't exactly talkative either, leaving you plenty of time to your own thoughts. And oh, do they trouble you.

Damara _did_ something to you, and you're not sure what it was. When she kissed you it was like she paralyzed you. You couldn't _do _anything. You moved, but you couldn't help Dirk. You couldn't help Dave. It wasn't until John hit her with his giant hammer that whatever it was wore off. Suddenly you could move again. You could fight her. You could end her.

But somehow, despite the blasted demon vanishing into dust, you don't think she's really gone. You get the feeling that Damara Megido is still out there somewhere. And you would bet your favorite pistols that she's more than willing to make good on her promise to royally mess you up.

It isn't long before Dave pulls up to the lounge. Bro is already outside and reaching into the Jeep before Dave can even turn off the engine. He pulls Dirk out of your arms and carries him in through a back door, muttering something that sounds like "stupid... so fucking stupid…"

You follow him inside. Dave and John are close behind you. Bro allows you into his office, laying Dirk down on a worn-in looking brown couch. You hope this isn't where the eldest Strider spends most of his nights, or in his case days, but somehow you think it might be.

"Is he going to be ok?" You ask, wincing as Bro peels the blood soaked shirt off Dirk, reopening some of his closed wounds as he rips away the blood clots. He frowns, but you think you hear him sigh in relief as Dirk's wounds begin to close on their own.

"Yeah, he'll scrape through. It takes more than Damara's claws to end a Strider," Bro responds. Though his brows furrow ever so slightly above the rim of his shades, he is otherwise completely expressionless. Curious. Isn't he concerned about his brother at all? "He's hurt badly though."

Dave doesn't need to hear any more before he's at Bro and Dirk's side, forcing his way in between you three. "This was my fault. It was all my fucking fault, let me—"

"No it wasn't," Bro snaps quickly, holding Dave back with a hand. "He didn't listen to me, and Damara got to him. That's not your fault. And besides," he pauses, glancing up and down at his youngest brother. "You're not exactly in tip-top shape yourself, lil' man."

"But we've gotta do something," Dave says. It may be your imagination, but perhaps he's speaking just a _tad_ quicker than usual. Other than that, the youngest Strider doesn't seem phased by his dying brother at all. You take a second to wonder how the Striders can be so brilliantly calculating yet heartless.

"Yeah," Bro murmurs. He pauses for a few moments, and then sighs, "yeah we do. All of you, get out."

"I beg your pardon?" You finally speak up.

"You heard me, English. Out," he responds, pointing to his door. "Even you, Dave. Go grab something to eat. You're skinny as a rail."

"Bullshit! Dirk's my bro too! I should be able to—" Dave's rambling slowly simmers down as Bro levels a glare at him. Disparagingly, he sighs, "ok. Fine. But he's _really_ hurt, so don't say I didn't tell you so."

Bro chuckles. "I think I know a thing or two about my own brother. Now out, before I lose my patience."

* * *

**Dirk: Wake up**

Nah, sleeping is the shit. Why would you want to wake up?

* * *

**Dirk: Get slapped**

Oww! No, stop that.

* * *

**Dirk: Get slapped again**

Ok fine! You're awake! Mother-fucking-stop!

You glare blearily around and think you vaguely recognize Bro's form hovering over you. Oh shit, you're in trouble now.

"You awake? Good," Bro murmurs, then slaps you one more time. "That was for not listening to me and almost getting yourself _and Dave_ killed."

Your head is still reeling when you feel him tenderly collect you into a tight hug, pulling you closer to him.

"This is because you're weak as hell," he murmurs. He grips the back of your bloodied hair, his own silent sign that he's _really_ worried about you. "You're a fucking cocky asshole, but I guess you learned from the best. Take my energy. You need it."

Your brows furrow ever so slightly. You're so weak that if you take enough to heal yourself—

Bro snorts, reading your thoughts. "No no, you don't get _that _much. Just enough to get you going. Then there's some yeti blood in the fridge with your name on it."

You groan. How did you know. Knowing he can read your thoughts, you don't attempt to talk yet, instead just thinking, "_thanks Bro._"

It's a weirdly comforting sensation, feeling someone willingly giving you their energy. You haven't felt it since you were small, when Bro gave you his back when you were too young to get it yourself. You smile softly. You've missed Bro's hugs.

You feel him smirk next to you. "Don't get used to it."

You sigh, sensing him syphoning his energy into you everywhere his skin is touching yours, from his fingertips when they lightly stroke your scalp, his arms that are wrapped around yours, and his cheek that is pressed against your own. All too soon, he pulls away. "All right. That should be enough lil' man. Now you have some nummy yeti blood for dessert," he says, using that tone he used when you were a kid.

Sometimes you _really_ hate his mind-reading.

He comes back with a giant mega-gulp cup, like the kind you would get from the gas station down the street. With a quick glance, you realize that the cup _is_ from the gas station down the street. Bro's even put a colorful orange bendy straw in it for you. "Drink up."

You make a face at the cup, but you sit up and accept it. Much as you hate this disgusting habit, you'll need it to replace the blood Damara stole from you.

"Aw shit," Bro curses, thumbing at his now bloodied white dress shirt. He takes it off and throws it at you. "You owe me a new shirt, kid."

"Your fault for not taking it off in the first place," you mutter, sparing a passing glance at the tags.

Armani Exchange. Nice. You don't hesitate to slip your arms through the sleeves of Bro's shirt. It's a little big on you, but you don't care.

You get back to sipping away at the gross blood while Bro throws on another shirt. You happen to know the guy has a whole closet full of clothes in his office with how often he spends the night here.

After he's buttoned all but the top two buttons, Bro opens up his office door, and your three partners this evening come pouring in. John is the first to zoom into your chest, giving your clavicle a big hug. You've always found John's hugs a little awkward. What are you supposed to do in return? You settle for the usual, stroking his back lightly with your index finger. "Dirk! I'm so happy you're ok! Dave and Jake were really worried too!"

You tilt your head at Dave as he takes a seat next to you. When you raise your fist, he returns the fist bump and says, "nah man, I knew you'd pull through."

You swear you hear Bro stifle a snort, but before you can think on it longer, Jake is kneeling beside you, grinning widely. "Glad you're all right, Strider! I'd hate to lose my partner after only a day! I'm certain that would be a horrible new record."

"There've been worse records," Bro reassures him from where he's returned to sorting through the papers on his desk. "But just to be sure you don't add to them, you're all taking the rest of the night off. Damara was the most challenging target by far. Karkat and his crew can handle the rest of them. Dirk, make sure Dave eats something."

You finish the mega-gulp, which Bro unfortunately is all too happy to refill before you leave. Disgusting though it may be, you have to admit that you're feeling better by the time you get to your Jeep, which Dave parked crooked in front of the station in his haste. You tisk at him, "dude, what've I told you? You've gotta respect the ride."

"I do respect the ride yo, I ain't makin' this shit up, no," Dave starts ramble/rapping again, and you decide to tune him out for the rest of the ride back to your apartment.

Jake has perked back up to his usual self, and he's back to chattering happily about his favorite films. "—and who would have thought that Avatar could have been such a brilliant hit?! Those lush character designs, thrilling plot twists—"

Yep, you're officially ignoring two people in your ride now. You chance a glance in the rearview mirror to find that John's actually giggling at Dave's rapping. It looks like he's trying to rap back, complete with making silly gangster poses, but as usual, you can't really hear his tiny voice over the rush of the wind.

You settle for listening to Jake continue on about his flagrantly poor taste in movies. Thankfully it isn't too long before you're back at your apartment.

You know that Bro wasn't talking about left-over pancakes when he told you to feed Dave, but that's all you've got the energy for right now. Honestly, you've seen the kid in much worse shape before, and he seems ecstatic at the chance to eat pancakes again.

It's early, but you stumble into bed and are quickly asleep.

* * *

**Dirk: Eat Jake's cooking again**

Ok. This evening Jake has tasty bacon and eggs waiting for you. You're not about to pass that up.

Dave is gone by the time you get up. He probably left last night. You do worry a little bit about the kid, but you know he'll be all right. Especially after last night. You've seen John fight before, and you knew that he was decent at his job. But now that you know what he's truly capable of doing, and just how committed he is to Dave, you know your lil' bro is safe.

Idly, you wonder how Dave feels now that John's "made it official" between the two of them. At least in front of you. Must be nice to have someone who cares that much about him. You used to have that when Roxy was around.

You feel a small twinge of remorse over last night. You did it again. You were thinking about Roxy and it blinded you. But really, where was she? You'd have thought Damara would pull out all the stops if she could? Then again, Roxy's absence helped Damara more than her presence probably would have.

Jake interrupts your self-pitying thoughts, serving you breakfast with a wide smile. "Good evening, Strider! I trust you're feeling better?" He says gaily as he places a generous portion of bacon, eggs, and (–waffles? Where the hell did those come from?) –in front of you.

You could really get used to him living here. Digging into the breakfast, you murmur through a mouthful of food, "felt like shit last night." You swallow and comment offhandedly, "I'll feel better once I get some real food later."

You realize your mistake as soon as you say it. A quick glance up at Jake confirms that he's crestfallen. Quickly, you wave a hand in front of him. "Relax English, your breakfasts are the shit." You notice that he looks very perplexed and add, "that's a good thing. Don't you ever stop making breakfast. It might be the first time in history a Strider cries."

Jake rubs his chin in a thoughtful way, as he begins to put two and two together. "Wait, if you're not talking about my breakfasts, then you don't mean to say—"

You wait patiently to see what he's going to say. Besides your mouth is full of waffles.

"—you're speaking of the _other_ thing you eat?" He asks tentatively.

Slowly, you nod.

"And that would be—" he asks, looking far more uncomfortable than you'd like. "—blood? Are you a vampire?"

You almost spit out the waffles, but instead you manage to quickly swallow them and exclaim, "No!"

His eyebrows raise in question. "That wasn't blood in the cup Bro gave you yesterday?"

You sigh, "yeah, it was. But I'm not a vampire. I'm an incubus. I only need blood when I'm really weak or when it's been stolen from me. It's complicated. I actually eat—" You tilt your head forward, squinting ever so slightly from behind your shades as you think of the best way to explain this to Jake that won't scare him away.

Eventually, you realize that there is no good way to say it, and you settle for being blunt as usual. "Sex energy."

"I-I beg your pardon?" Jake stammers, flabbergasted.

"I can feed off another's energy during sex, or any affectionate action," you explain. It's been a while since you had to describe this to anyone, and for some reason, it's really making you feel hot under the collar.

Maybe it's because Jake seems to be really troubled by this for some reason. Damn, you really don't want to scare him away. You kind of like having him around.

—wait, you do?

You blink, realizing it's true. Sure, you were staring at his ass a couple nights ago, but you chalked that up to your incubus nature and your love of a plush rump. But now you think it just might be a little more than that. You swallow away a lump in your throat as you slowly realize the truth.

You _like_ Jake English.

And it's only been two days. Fuck.

And now that he knows your secret, he looks positively frightened. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Jake clears his throat. "So you feed off another's –_affection, _correct?"

Slowly you nod, not wanting to alarm him. Like nodding quickly would. Fuck. Why do you care about this so much?

Hesitantly, he continues, "and your Bro gave you this _affection_ yesterday to heal you? Does that mean you two…" he trails off uncomfortably, tentatively touching the tips of his two pointer fingers together in the most awkward gesture you've seen in decades.

Suddenly you know why he's acting so strange. You almost laugh in relief when you realize it. "Dude, Bro hugged me. We didn't make out or anything."

"Oh!" Jake exclaims. He looks visibly relieved. "I didn't realize that was possible! The others of your kind that I have met in my travels have always done things—a different way?"

You're starting to wonder just what Jake English has been into in the past, but you don't question it. Instead you explain, "it's usually easier during sex, but Bro has a lot of experience handing energy off to me 'n Dave. A hug from him is about as good as fucking two hookers off the street."

Which you would never do, by the way. But you do love the way your comment makes Jake blanch a bit. Maybe he'll stop talking about this awkward subject and move on. "And just what do _you_ eat, English?"

Jake flashes his charismatically charming grin and holds up a forkful of waffle. "Just plain old boring human food, I'm afraid!" His grin falters a bit as he asks tentatively, "do you get anything out of eating the food I cook? I mean, you _can_ eat it, right?"

Really? Did he _really_ just ask that? You glare at him, holding up a half-eaten piece of bacon and lay on the sarcasm. "Oh no, I've eaten Jake English's _human food_. Whatever will I do?" When he cracks a grin, you toss the piece at him, "yes, I can eat it, you dork. I can drink the orange soda hogging half my fridge too."

"But does it do anything for you?" he continues to probe incessantly. "I mean, I'd hate to force you to eat my cooking if it doesn't actually help you."

"One, you're not forcing anything. I already told you your breakfasts are the shit." You sigh at him and respond quickly, "And two, yes, it fills me, but not as well as sex-energy. I still need that every now and then. Any other awkward questions, English?"

Jake laughs, scratching the back of his head in that adorable way. "Sorry, Strider! I'm afraid I'm just terribly curious! I've never had the opportunity to actually speak to an incubus before. In the past I've always just—" Again, he trails off, not wanting to say the rest.

The fact that he doesn't finish his sentence tells you enough. "You've killed us. It's ok, I've slain many of us too. Remember what we did to Damara last night? We stop the ones that can't control their urges, that run around fucking anything that walks, leaving behind a trail of bodies." You imagine that happening to you and shudder at the thought. You were lucky Bro was always around to teach you what to do and where to stop. You did the same for Dave.

"Horribly sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up," Jake apologizes, his eyes cast down. Though you know it wasn't your fault, you instantly feel guilty.

"Hey, it's ok, you didn't do anything wrong," you reassure him by throwing another piece of half-eaten bacon at him. "It's kind of an unspoken understanding in this business. We watch out for each other and try to bring ones that have fallen astray back. But if that isn't possible, we end them."

"Oh," he responds shortly.

"But we're not all bad," you reassure him with a small grin. "I won't jump your bones unless you want me to."

What, really? Where the ever-loving fuck did that come from?

Jake doesn't seem to think your comment was weird though, and he's actually giggling back at you now. "Why thank you Strider! You're such a gentleman."

"Naturally. I know how to treat a lady," you say with a smirk. "Now if you don't have any other questions, breakfast is getting cold."

Jake finally catches the hint and lets you eat the rest of your breakfast in peace.

* * *

**Dirk: Fight some demons!**

The demons of Derse must be scared shitless after what you four did to Damara last night. Bro sends you and Jake out on several missions, but the demons are a cakewalk. You take out most of the targets in 5 minutes tops.

The most challenging target is near the riverside of an abandoned factory, where mermen sent by Eridan Ampora have been taking up residence. The beach is littered with the carcasses of stray cats, rotting and decaying amongst the plastic debris. You find it both peculiar and repulsive. You've saved this target for last, and seeing what you're going to have to do, you're glad that you did.

The water is filled with toxic sludge, refuse from the populace that the corrupt City officials are too cheap to dispose of properly. It's a shame. You remember a time when the beach was one of the City's prized destinations. You actually got along with Eridan back then, before the waters became so contaminated that they poisoned his mind. You tried to convince him to move somewhere else, but Eridan wouldn't have any of that. You always knew his pride would be the death of him.

It was.

Not a decade after the city began dumping waste into the waters, Eridan and his mermen began to change. And not in a good way. The brilliant luster of their scales corroded into a dark oxidized brown. Their fins and claws sharpened, taking on the toxicity of the waters and refining it into a deadly poison. You watched the sad transformation of one of your best friends as he slowly lost his sanity and degraded into nothing more than a vicious reckless predator. He cursed humanity and vowed to take down the humans who polluted his waters. Even Cronus, Eridan's cousin, barely recognized him. Cronus had taken your advice and relocated with the help of some of your coworkers, namely Kankri.

The first time you killed Eridan, driving your katana through his heart, your stomach had clenched. You'd choked back an anguished cry over the loss of one of your best childhood friends. But you knew the dangers of this job. You knew what you would have to do if one of you went out of line.

When Eridan resurfaced again, not about to be held back in Derse, you had foolishly hoped for the best. The natural purple luster of his hair had returned, and the corrosion from before had long since fallen away. But the effect the toxic waters had on his mind was permanent. You sent him back to Derse as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Suddenly, you hear a loud splash of water, and a giant reverse cyclone surges from the water in front of you. The sludge flies all over the remnants of the beach, now covered in various colors of plastic wrap. "Wwell wwell wwell! Wwhat havve wwe here?"

You frown. You had hoped to avoid a confrontation, but it looks like that won't be possible now. Steadily, you position your katana in front of you and take a fighting stance.

"Oh Dirk! Wwhat's this all about? Aren't you happy to see me?" Eridan grins, his torso appearing out of the water. He holds his clawed arms out to you. The light of the moon reflects off his amethyst scales and the tattered remnants of a ridiculously ironic purple waterproof cape you had given him decades ago, back when Eridan had dreamed of being a wizard. Most of the tears in the fabric are by your own blade. You have no idea why he insists on wearing it, but seeing him still cling to the fabric causes your heart to wrench.

"Eridan," you say slowly, gauging whether or not your former-friend's mind has returned to him. "Cronus didn't mention that you came back."

"Cronus Cronus, wwhat a wwindbag!" Eridan cackles, splashing the waters around him playfully. Some of the sludge hits your shirt. There's one shirt going in the trash. "He could never understand my truest of sciences!"

"What do you mean?" you ask. There's still a small chance that he's returned to himself, but you know better than to get your hopes up. "And what's with all the cats?"

Eridan grins widely, spreading his finned arms out beside him, "Dirk! I'vve finally figured it out! The wway the wwater can be used to showw evveryone the truth! Evveryone needs to drink the wwater! First the cats, then the humans, then the GALAXY! The wwater holds all the answwers an once evveryone drinks it they wwill understand my science too!"

Nope. He's still a deranged lunatic. You sigh ever so slightly. "I'll only say this once, Eridan. Quit it. Quit all your madness and come back to us. Live with Cronus for a while till you find your own place. Unpolluted water might clean out your mind. Then you can—"

"_Fuck no!_" Eridan screeches, cutting you off. "I'll nevver givve up my home! NEVVER!"

In one sweeping motion, he draws his hands behind him and swings them forward, sending a tidal-wave of sludge-filled water at you.

Bracing yourself, you dig your blade into the debris below you, riding out the contaminated wave of water. As the dark liquid swirls around you, you feel Eridan's claws digging into your arms, yanking you free from the ground like he's pulling a weed. You fall back into the waters of the river with him.

It's a good thing you don't have to breathe. Eridan uses his superior swimming abilities to drag you deeper into the water. He's got fins, damn it. It's not fair.

Speaking of unfair, you are both about the same age, but Eridan's kind have always been more powerful than yours, for reasons you will nevver know. Ahem. Never know.

After many centuries, Bro developed the ability to read thoughts. But from a very young age, Eridan has been able to read _and_ _place_ thoughts in others minds.

"_Dirk, stay wwith me,_" Eridan's voice pleads in your head. "_Drink the wwater. Then you'll understand. Wwe'll showw the wworld the truth!"_

You clench your teeth tightly together as he tries to pry your mouth open with his clawed hands, slicing your lips and drawing blood. You mentally growl at the wasted blood. Knowing Bro, he's going to make you drink something nasty again later to replace it.

Determinedly, you think back, "_Eridan, cut this shit out. I don't want to have to kill you again._"

His arms still as he reads your thoughts and sends back to you, "_you wwouldn't do that again. Derse is such a dreadful place._"

"_You can tell me all about it later. I swear I'll be all ears. Just come with me,_" you plead, knowing it's likely futile. You tighten your grip on your katana, wincing a bit as he throws his arms around you, digging his claws into your shoulders. You know what this is coming down to.

For the sake of everyone, you know your friend again has to die.

"_Dirk, I can't leavve! I havve to show everyone the truth! The cats ALMOST understand! In a feww wweeks I can start on the humans! I can't leavve! I can't—"_

His thoughts still as you thrust your katana behind you, slicing through his scaled body and piercing his heart. Without even looking, you know that you've killed your friend for the third time.

"_Di—rk?_" Eridan's thought reaches you as his violet blood begins to creep into your vision. Soon you're surrounded in it. His grip on you loosens until his arms fall from around your shoulders.

You glance back just in time to see him fade away.

Jake is seated on the shore when you emerge from the waters, but he gets to his feet immediately when he sees you. "I say, Strider! Are you all right, mate? You look a little worse for wear," he says with concern.

You trudge up to him, shaking some of the poisonous water and Eridan's blood off you. "Yep. Took out the leader. You?"

"Oh, I took care of the rest," Jake says with a grin, patting a rocket-propelled grenade launcher at his side. The thing's about as big as he is. You're _certain_ that he couldn't have been carrying that thing on him, but you don't question it. After all, where the hell does John keep his Zillyhoo?

"Good. I'm so ready to get out of here," you grumble, realizing that you'll need to wash the inside of your Jeep after this. Jake miraculously doesn't have a bit of sludge on him. You, however, look like you just went for a swim in a pig-pen.

But, quite miraculously, you manage to find your shades on the shoreline. You were so distracted by Eridan's reappearance that you hadn't even realized that they flew off in the initial tidal wave. Black tar-like goop drips off of them when you pick them up off the remnants of a rusted Coke Zero can. Yep, those are getting washed before they go back on your face.

The thought of not wearing them for a little while does bother you a bit. You glance hesitantly in Jake's direction, but he's already trundling off towards the Jeep. He had to have seen your eye color earlier, but he didn't react at all. Then again, why should he? You know he's dealt with your kind before.

He's probably seen eyes every color of the fucking rainbow. Why should yours be special?

Answer: they're not. Not to supernatural beings like you. And Jake. Whatever he is.

You push these thoughts aside and focus on how dirty your car is getting as you drive it covered in filth. Despite the detour to the car wash, you're back home early again because you and Jake neutralized all the threats in record time. You have no doubt that Dave and John have had similar luck tonight.

So, after the second shower of the night, you both cozy in on your second-hand futon. Three extra-large pizzas from the 24 hour pizza joint down the street lay open on your coffee table while you suffer through some of the movies Jake calls his "favorites."

It isn't long before you come to realize that Jake's "favorites" include pretty much every movie in existence. After sitting through Transformers, Confessions of a Shopoholic, and Cinderella, you turn to him and ask, "Jake, please tell me we have been watching these movies ironically."

"Irony? Heavens no, old chap!" Jake says, beaming. "Why, after watching Confessions of a Shopoholic the first time, I was inspired to wear a green scarf for three months!"

Somehow, you get the feeling he's telling the truth.

The week passes in a similar manner, sans being forced to kill old friends. All too soon, you learn that Jake's terrible taste in cinema doesn't stop at movies. It spans TV shows too. You suffer through hours of horribly bad soap operas, reality TV shows, and "sci-fi originals." You were beginning to have a little hope when he played the fourth season of Dr. Who, but then he switched it up with Toddlers in Tiaras.

Only one good thing came from all of that pain. It was incredibly easy to convince him to watch the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic series.

You watch with trepidation as you put on the first episode. You're a little nervous, admittedly. What if Jake doesn't appreciate it as much as you do? What if he hates the show you absolutely adore?

You quickly realize that you had no reason to be worried. Jake is captivated after the first minute, his eyes glued to the screen. He whoops and cheers as Twilight Sparkle meets each new pony friend. You hold your breath as Rainbow Dash comes onto the screen. What will Jake think of her?

Again, no need for concern. Jake loves her. Jake loves all the ponies. You love this about Jake.

After watching through all the episodes with you, Jake declares that it's his new favorite TV series and buys you both My Little Pony t-shirts. You wear your Rainbow Dash shirt most un-ironically around the apartment and even to work a couple of times. Bro shakes his head at you but doesn't say a word.


	4. Who You Gonna Call?

**Chapter 4: Who You Gonna Call?**

* * *

**Dirk:** **Hang out at work**

Not your usual deal, but ok. You're stuck waiting for Bro to come back anyway. No Bro, no assignments, no work.

In the meantime, Jake is more than happy to take on Terezi in a friendly game of pool. You watch his delicious ass sway away while you sit at the bar. You almost feel bad for him. He has no idea what a shark Terezi is at pool.

"Wvhat's the human saying, take a picture, it'll last longer?" Cronus says, grinning from the seat beside you.

"Like you've got room to talk," you counter, nodding ever so slightly in Kankri's direction. It's no secret that they've got the hots for each other, but Cronus still flushes a deep purple at your comment.

You'd also say something about not giving himself away, but it's not like humans come here anyway. Bro always intended for his bar to be a haven for demons and otherworldly creatures like yourself and Cronus. It's part of the whole gig. Give the demons a place to go, and they'll bring info with them. It works surprisingly well.

Cronus tries hard to blend in. Harder than most of you, but there's just a bit of unfortunate anatomy he can't make go away. Though he's a merman, he's older than Eridan. Cronus long ago learned how to dry off his tail and walk on two (albeit webbed) legs and feet. His fins he can hide behind his clothes and shoes. But try as he may, his gills always stick out from behind his perfectly styled greaser haircut.

Clearly, Kankri doesn't mind, as he pours Cronus what you're sure is the fifth free drink of the night. But it's a sore spot with the water-dweller. Speaking of which, what you have to tell him is certain to sour his mood too. But you owe it to him. He deserves to know about last week.

You've never been great at breaking bad news to people, which is why you've waited this long to tell him. So, as usual, you go for the blunt approach. "Hey, I've got some bad news for you."

Yeaaaah. Usually you're a _little_ smoother than that. Oh well. Too late to take it back now.

Cronus glances at you suspiciously. "Vwell don't keep me in suspense."

"Eridan found a way back," you murmur, dropping your voice so low that you're pretty sure only the two of you will hear.

"My cousin?" He gulps visibly, reaching an unsteady hand for his drink. He takes several large gulps and places an empty glass back on the table. "Did he? I don't suppose—"

Ever so slightly, you shake your head. "I'm sorry. I couldn't convince him to leave."

Cronus sighs, long and exasperated. Slowly, he leans forward until his head is resting on the bar.

Immediately, Kankri's at his side. The troll is almost the spitting image of Karkat, manager and leader of the taskforce of this place. He has the same gray skin and unruly black hair, but something about Kankri is so much softer. You get the feeling he wouldn't hurt a fly. He probably hasn't.

Kankri places an ashen hand atop his friend's and asks gently, "Cronus? Are you all right? Did I give you too much to drink again? I would really hate that. The effects that alcohol has on you can be so unpleasant, especially if you drink it in excess. I am unsure of the exact mechanism alcohol has on your body, but I did not mean to cause that to happen to you again tonight. It might be best if you ceased to drink it for a while. If you want, I can make the drinks weaker or maybe replace the alcohol with water. That might stop the negative effects and—"

"It's ok, Kan, I'm not sick," Cronus sighs, clasping Kankri's hand reassuringly. "It's Eridan."

Immediately, a knowing look alights in Kankri's eyes, and his gaze swings to you. But you know better than to get caught up in the middle of this. Before he can open his mouth, you're already on your feet and walking off to find Jake.

Somehow, Terezi has already fully destroyed him at pool once. Jake is aligning the cue ball just right, promising to beat her this time, when he sees you walk over. "Strider! You're just in time. Care to play a round of two on two?"

You arch an eyebrow. "Who's the fourth?"

"The handsome and charismatic yours truly," Dave says, standing up from a lounge chair nearby. He spins around a pool stick in an impressively flashy way (kid must have practiced for hours) and stands next to Terezi. "Think you can take us on?"

You know it's a lost cause before you start. Terezi is blind, but if she didn't carry around her cane everywhere, nobody would ever know. Terezi and her sister Latula are both descendants from dragons. You don't question how it works. As far as you know, the dark haired sisters have both always looked mysterious but human. The only things that just might give them away are their magnificent double rows of razor sharp teeth.

Something about her dragonian heritage allows Terezi to see by smell. In the beginning, she was always a couple inches off her target, but over time, she's honed her scent-sight into a formidable precision. Likewise, while Latula lost her sense of smell long ago, she can see scents, a very useful skill when she's sent out hunting.

Needless to say, anyone against Terezi in pool isn't a fair game, but you grin and take up a pool stick anyway. "Do your worst."

They do. Literally, you've never seen Dave play so poorly before. But maybe John insisting on sitting on his pool stick every time he lines up a shot has something to do with it. And maybe Terezi's heckling doesn't help him either. And maybe Dave heckling Terezi back doesn't really help her. And maybe John determinedly getting in between the two of them doesn't help either of them.

You observe it all (and Jake's magnificent ass as he leans over, lining up a shot just right.) What is your little bro doing? You knew he had something with Terezi a while back, before John was really in the picture. You're pretty sure John knows about it. With the way he's acting, it's almost like Dave's _trying_ to piss off his boyfriend.

You take your turn, sinking one ball before scratching on your next shot. Then you watch them even more closely. It's then that you notice the tiny smirk on Dave's face, every time he does something to piss John off. You snort in amusement.

The little shithead's doing it on purpose.

It's a close game, but as you thought, you and Jake are no match for Terezi. The cackling troll manages to go on a killing spree, sinking 5 balls, including the final 8 ball, all in one round.

When you finish, you glance over at Jake, who is more than fired up and ready for another round. He's already collecting the all the pool balls from their pockets, eager to play again. You're actually a little taken aback. You don't think you've ever seen him so excited about anything before. Not even his prized pistols.

"Dude," you say, with just the tiniest hint of an inflection in your voice.

Immediately, Dave looks over, picking up on your cue. Jake, however, doesn't notice a thing. You guess it shouldn't be so surprising since he has only known you for about a week. He hasn't had a chance to learn your subtle Strider cues. You wonder if he ever will.

Dave's eyes flick over to Jake, and you immediately want to wipe the smug smirk off his face. It looks like he's about to say something, but Terezi takes your little bro's moment of distraction as an opportunity to trip him with her pool stick.

Instead, you move to Jake's side and repeat again, "Hey. Jake."

He doesn't react until you place your hand on top of his.

Gentle caresses, packed with suggestion, are a natural instinct for you. The warmth of skin-on-skin, feather-light touches, and powerful mental suggestions behind it are all something you do without thought by this point.

Jake gasps lightly, breathily. It's a sound you would love to hear more. A faint flush rises to his cheeks as he trains his bright forest green eyes on you. His lips are parted in a very inviting way, and it would be so easy to lean in and—

Instantly, you realize what you've done, and you pull your hand away quickly.

The whole exchange only lasted a second, but to you, it felt like much longer. That's part of the beauty and curse of your kind's ability: you can control souls. The elders of your kind, like Damara, are more powerful and can fully control the souls of the living and dead. You're still young in incubus terms, but even you can weave complex thoughts and desires into another's mind through your touch almost instantly. If your touch doesn't do it, then your eyes certainly will.

You do your best to hold it back, but sometimes it slips out unintentionally. Bro taught you and Dave to wear your shades everywhere to keep both your eyes in check. And you do wear fingerless gloves when you go out, but they don't completely keep your abilities back.

You freeze, realizing that you've just placed the equivalent of a thousand sexual innuendos into Jake's mind all at once. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You hope you haven't royally screwed things up.

"Oh!" he exclaims suddenly, dropping a few pool balls onto the table in his surprise.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit. You're already coming up with a million excuses, explanations that will make it all better. You don't dare look at Dave right now.

Jake smiles brightly at you and exclaims, "Strider, you snuck up on me!"

You blink. That wasn't the reaction you were expecting. "No I didn't," you say oh-so-intelligently.

"I'm quite positive that you did!" Jake says with conviction. There's a smile on his lips and absolutely no indication that you just hit him with a million watts of incubus suggestion. You mentally sigh in relief. You're safe. For now.

"I didn't sneak up on you. You just didn't notice me," you insist, deciding not to address your little faux pas. "What's gotten into you?"

"Hmm? Nothing, old bean!" Jake says, far too exuberantly for you to actually believe him. "Nothing like a sporting round of pool, much like a smashing round of fisticuffs!"

There's something very peculiar about his answer, but before you get the chance to question him further about it, Bro sweeps into the lounge. "Dirk. Dave. Got your assignments," he announces.

You take one look at him and tisk. Though he hides it behind his orange cap, his hair is slightly disheveled, and his pale skin just a tad flushed. You would bet anything that beneath his perfectly smoothed-out clothes there are bite marks on his skin. And you know that not just anyone can leave bite marks on Bro.

You know where he's been and why he was late tonight. "Thought you said you were gonna stop seeing her?"

Before you realize it, you're on the ground. Bro's booted foot is resting on your chest. "Was that a challenge, lil' man?"

You do your best to shrug from your vantage point on the floor. "She's not my problem."

Bro doesn't grace you with a response. Instead he holds out his fist above your head. You're not sure what he's planning to do, but you're silently thankful when all he does is open up his hand, dropping a small piece of paper above you. It drifts down and lands neatly atop your shades. "Get to work," he says with just the faintest hint of bitterness. It's so small that you're not even sure if Dave picked up on it, not that he needs to. Both of you know what's going on with your Bro. It's an unspoken and fairly well-kept secret between the three of you. You're not even sure if any of Bro's employees know.

Terezi takes your pool sticks and looks at you in what you assume is a sympathetic way. It's tough to tell with her characteristic red shades on. She knows better than to ask about Bro.

Jake doesn't. Or if he does, he pays it no mind and asks you about it later, when you're driving to your target. "I know it may not be my place yet, but is everything quite all right with Bro? Those comments you made were a tad alarming!"

"Bro can take care of himself," you murmur in response. He can. It doesn't mean you have to approve of it, though. You get the feeling that if anyone besides you or Dave knew about it, they wouldn't hesitate to turn their backs on Bro forever. Yep. It's that big of a secret.

You put it out of your mind, though, because you have other things to think of.

Namely Dave, who has been incessantly kicking your chair since you left. You swat behind you blindly for the fifth time, and he curls his legs up onto the seat just in time to avoid your arm. Bro has you two working together again tonight. Not because the targets are especially difficult but because there are so few. From the looks of things, you should be done in a little under an hour.

But the sooner you can ditch the little douchebag the better.

"Dude. Hey. Hey, bro. Hey," Dave says, poking your shoulder every time he utters a syllable.

"_What?_" you growl back at him.

"We always listen to your mixes," he answers, thrusting something shiny in front of your face. "I wanna listen to mine."

It's a CD. The words "bitchin' awesome beats" are written on the front in scratchy red sharpie. You sigh back at him, "only if you stop being a cocky little shit."

"I'm never a—" he begins, but when you start handing his CD back to him, he quickly amends, "ok fine. Whatever."

You decide to indulge him and play his music. A few seconds later, some rather sick beats are pounding out of your stereo. You nod in time to the music. It's not bad.

You chance a glance back in the rear-view mirror and are not too surprised to see John perched on Dave's shoulder. His tiny wings flick in the wind as he wildly throws his fists around, spazzing out in time to the music. Dave is sitting perfectly still, but there's the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips. You know that your bro is insanely happy right now.

A little later, you're at your destination. It's a small house high up on a hill in the suburbs of the city. A two-story two-car-garage masterpiece, the house sits alone amiss a field of weeds. The crescent moon is obscured by dark clouds overhead. Wind rustles ominously through overgrown and gnarled black tree branches. A black cat runs by.

This place couldn't be more clichéd if it tried.

You're about to turn off the Jeep when you feel Dave's hand on your shoulder. "Dude, wait. Put on track 13. Turn it up."

You unsnap your seatbelt and turn around to face him, arching an eyebrow up in question.

"Trust me," he says in a way that you definitely don't trust him.

But Jake does. He doesn't hesitate to crank up the music in the middle of this suburban neighborhood at midnight. The light sound of phaser distortion slowly crescendos, and just before the beat drops, you hear Dave's distorted voice say, "Who you gonna call?" You finally crack a smirk. Dave's mixed it up, but you know this song.

The Ghostbuster's theme song.

You bust in through the front door, kickin' 80's beats pumping from your Jeep at your back and a bright as hell flashlight in your hands. You've gotta admit, it feels a little badass. Like you're starring in your own damn thriller movie.

As Dave's remix permeates the house, you split up and run through each room wielding giant flashlights. Ghosts shriek and moan as you shine the ultra-bright UV lights on them, corralling all the specters into the kitchen.

Once there, John's ready for them. With a dollop of fairy dust and the right incantations, the specters lose their unearthly glow. He pulls out a mega-sized copy of the Holy Bible and smacks each ghost with it, screaming "PEACE BE WITH YOU!"

One by one, the ghosts vanish. As the last specter dissolves into the air, the song finishes.

Wordlessly, Dave holds up a fist. You bump him back.

* * *

**Dirk: Challenge Jake to a round of Halo**

Sure. Why the fuck not? You're back early enough. You fire up the old Xbox 360, which only still works because you've modified it so many times, and toss a controller at Jake.

He fumbles it a bit, dropping the plastic fork he'd been using to shovel fried rice into his mouth from the Thai joint down the street. A few pieces of rice and corn get on your couch, but you don't care. Watching Jake's shocked and somewhat flustered expression is totally worth it.

You've found that Jake is amazing with any guy. Ahem. Gun. He prefers his pistols, but he kicks demonic butt with rocket launchers, sniper rifles, and shotguns. You don't doubt that he has many more weapons up his sleeves. Someone with his experience shouldn't have too much trouble picking up a first person shooter game.

Jake sucks at Halo.

He cries out in dismay as you beat him for the fifth time in a row. "Strider! This is completely unfair! Everyone takes far more damage than they should be able to, and this 'needler' is simply worthless!"

You smirk, murmuring, "maybe you just gotta pick up your game."

Jake squares his jaw at you, looking at you with the most insanely adorably angry eyes ever. You never thought that someone so pissed off could be so freakin' cute. "I have _plenty_ of game, thank you very much!"

"Sure you do," you agree.

Decades of living with Bro have made you strong. At least, it made you more aware of when someone was about to start a strife with you.

You've got just enough time to brace yourself as Jake throws aside his controller and tackles you to the floor. You land hard on the thin rug just barely covering your hardwood floors. Jake's muscular frame knocks the wind out of you as he lands on top of you. This time, you were a little ready for him, and he doesn't pin you immediately. You crash into the wooden table holding your food, and fried rice showers on top of you both.

Neither of you mind. You're both grinning as he attempts to lock both your arms down into submission. You kick the table out of the way, earning you a few more specks of rice and an eggroll, and make enough room for yourself. In one fluid motion, you kick off the futon beside you and knock Jake off you.

He flips into the space where the table used to be, landing on the eggroll, smashing it into your threadbare rug. That's gonna be a bitch to clean up later, but right now you couldn't care less. As he struggles to right himself, you flashstep behind him, grabbing him from behind. You pin both his arms to his sides, leaving just his legs to contend with.

Jake has more fight in him than 100 angry pit-bulls. He kicks a bit before realizing that it's useless. Changing up his tactic, he leans into you, and for a split second you're _extremely_ distracted. Jake's body is pressed up next to yours, his fantastic ass next to your crotch. Thoughts of holding him like this for a very different reason drift through your head and damn do you _want him. _Being this close to him is doing things to you that it probably shouldn't.

Especially not when you're still in the middle of a strife. Jake suddenly rolls to the side, heaving you both into the legs of your futon. He breaks out of your hold and is suddenly atop you again. His left knee digs into your back, pressing your chest into the floor. His right shin is pressed firmly across your ass and thighs, holding them in place. His hands pin your wrists down beside you, and you know it's all over.

"English: 2, Strider: 0," Jake taunts. You can't see him with your face smashed into the floor, but you would bet anything that he's grinning like a fool. But you don't care, because for the first time his bare hands are touching the exposed skin of your wrists. It's finally enough skin-on-skin contact for you to do something you've wanted to do since day one.

For the first time, you decide to taste him.

Jake's energy is bold. It's full of a fearlessly powerful rich favor that makes you yearn for more. You thought that his energy would give you some clue about his nature, but it leaves you with more questions than answers. He doesn't taste like _anything_ you've ever encountered before. It confuses and perplexes you.

You want him more than ever.

"Laugh it up while you can," you grunt as he gets off you. You're kind of sad that he did. You were enjoying the feeling of his body crushed against yours, his energy rolling in waves across your skin.

"Looks like someone needs to pick up his game. Oh, and that someone isn't me," Jake says in a cocky way.

Your first instinct is to pin him to the ground, because you're certain you could right now. He's distracted and overly confident. With your speed, it wouldn't be hard.

But you don't trust what you might do after you pin him. Because you would love nothing more than to capture him with your body, feel the warmth of his skin against your own, taste not just his energy but his mouth, ever so slightly nudge his affections with a twinge of your hips, move a little lower and—

Yeah, you're going to stop those thoughts right now.

So instead, you throw the Xbox controller back in his hands. He gives you a horrified look, his eyes widening and his mouth falling. You grin at him, on the verge of lightly chuckling at his expense. "Care to prove that?"

* * *

**Dirk: Tinker**

Tinkering is one of your favorite pastimes. Many sleepless nights (or days in your case) you've toiled over your prized robots in the room you use far more than your bedroom: your workroom.

What, did you think you brought your random make-outs back to your place? No no. You're a little classier than that. Besides, you don't want or need all that baggage following you around. Not that you'd let them remember you anyway.

Most nights, you're perfectly happy to fully immerse yourself in your work and pump your music loud (through your headphones. You don't want to piss off your neighbors too much.) Tonight, as you work tirelessly on crafting a robotic hand, things are a little different. Tonight, you have an audience.

Jake sits on a small wooden stool beside you as you hunch over your flat work-desk. His eyes are glued to your hands, absorbing every little detail as you work. Try as he might, he did not actually prove himself to be the Halo-master. That title is reserved for you. And sometimes Dave.

Instead of torturing your crush (because you're not really into that, despite what people say about you and your brothers) you decide to show him your robotics workroom instead. After cleaning up the mess of Thai food left over on the floor from your strife, you introduce Jake to your own Dirk-Strider-Patented-Man-Cave. It's a small room, but it's all you need. Your work bench takes up the most room, and your computer sits on a desk beside it. An old tube T.V. lives in the corner. Most of the time, it collects dust, but sometimes you like the distraction while you work. The ground is littered with a maze of robotic parts that only you know how to navigate without stepping on something.

Jake instantly trips over the multitude of parts laying around on the floor and falls onto the small wooden stool beside your work table. He's been contently sitting there for the past two hours.

And by contently, you mean his mouth has been working a mile a minute.

"Fascinating!" he exclaims for the hundredth time. "But I don't see how any of this is going to work at all!"

"If I put this part over here," you murmur, twisting together the frayed metallic ends of a couple wires. Instantly, the index finger of your robotic hand springs into motion, twitching up and down at a rhythmic speed.

"Bloody genius!" Jake exclaims, rocking in his seat with excitement.

You allow yourself a tiny grin. For some reason, seeing Jake this happy makes you feel just the tiniest bit of warmth in your undead heart. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't had in a very long time. Or ever.

Better not think about it too much.

"Wanna see what this is for?" you ask, setting the hand down and sliding over to your computer. Though you've gone through many computers over the years, you've meticulously and carefully backed up and transferred one program every single time. A program that you would just feel guilty if you left behind.

AR.

As soon as you turn on the computer, AR springs to life. A computerized and diabolical version of your younger self, AR has quickly taken over every computer you put him into. He could ruin you if he wanted to. With his growing intelligence, you wouldn't be surprised if he could ruin the whole world, but you know he wouldn't do that. Because as much as you tease and chide him about it, you know that somehow, somewhere in his programming, AR does have a heart.

You're not sure if it was there when you programmed him initially, or whether he discovered it on his own over time. But the fact that he does care is undeniable. It's why you've made sure he doesn't expire with each of your computers. It's why you've decided to build a body for him.

As Jake comes into view, a small camera built into the top of the computer screen adjusts and focuses the lens. You know AR's checking out Jake. Not that it's anything unusual. AR can see everything you see through your sunglasses too. When _you_ check someone out, _AR_ checks him out. And you've got to admit, you've been admiring Jake's fine plush rump a lot lately.

It's not something you ever really think about. But seeing the computer lens actively focus on him brings the thought to your attention. You're not really sure how you feel about that.

A new chat window opens itself up in the center of the screen, and bright orange text greets you.

**timaeusTestified [TT]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** at 5:12

**TT: It's been a while since you talked to me. If I had any feelings, I'd be sad right now. Who's that? Is that Jake English?**

The mic can pick up anything you say, relating it to AR, so you don't bother typing back. Instead you say, "admit it, you missed me. And yeah, that's English. How'd you know his name?"

**TT: It wasn't hard to figure out. I spent the last few hours analyzing all the speech patterns every person you encounter says the most frequently and compiled it all into one fucking incredibly massive database. You couldn't possibly hope to comprehend all the knowledge I synthesized in just the last half hour.**

You're not sure where he got it from, but AR is cocky as hell. Oh who are you kidding, you know _exactly _where that came from. But AR also loves to beat around the bush. Maybe it's a bad habit he picked up from Jane? You're not even sure how much they talk to each other anymore. It takes you a moment to realize what he's talking about. When you remember that AR can see what you see through your sunglasses, it all makes sense. "You learned how to read lips?"

**TT: Hell fucking yeah. Don't know why I didn't put the effort into doing that sooner. I guess learning every single language was a nice distraction for a couple days. Figuring out the meaning of your so-called "life" was a fun one too.**

You're about to respond to him when suddenly Jake scrambles around, catching your attention. He sits down at the computer chair and marvels at the screen. "Oh! I remember this old program. Pesterchum, was it? I think I still have log-in identification."

You don't question why Jake has a Pesterchum handle. Or why he calls it log-in identification. You just watch in mortification as Jake logs in and proceeds to type back to AR in green text.

**golgothasTerror [GT]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** at 5:15

**GT: Why hello there old chap! Might i ask your name?**

**TT: Dirk.**

The look that passes over Jake's face is at first surprised. Then it morphs into a somewhat mortified suspicion as he glances at you and asks, "you?"

Slowly you shake your head. "He was me back when I programmed him a long time ago, but he's grown into his own person since then."

"His own person—" Jake trails off for a few moments before his eyes snap up in shock. "Why, is he a _computerized program? Of __**you**__?_"

"Sure is," you nod, feeling a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment at once. "Most people call him AR."

"Most people?" Jake questions.

"There's a few of us," you murmur back, not wanting to get into the details. The one who talked the most to AR in the past was easily Roxy. Since her death, AR has been oddly silent. Not once has he bothered you with his orange text across your sunglasses. You hate to admit it, but it kind of feels weird without him constantly pestering you.

"Fascinating," Jake breathes, looking back at the screen.

It may have been your imagination, but did your computer screen just flicker? You glance at AR's chat window, but the cursor is still blinking after his name. He hasn't typed anything since. Curious.

**TT: So English, I hear you like My Little Pony.**

**GT: Do i! Its simply BRILLIANT!**

You watch in mild amusement as Jake talks to the computerized version of yourself for a solid ten minutes about the beauty of My Little Pony. Over time, AR's tastes have probably diverged from your own. Statistically speaking, it's an inevitability, and truly you don't mind. It'd be kind of creepy knowing that there's an identical computerized version of yourself out there, even though you're the douchebag that created it. So really, you don't want him to be the same.

But a small part of you is very pleased that AR still shares your love for the ponies.

Satisfied that AR isn't going to fuck anything up for you, you let the two keep talking. You sit back at your work bench, pop in your ear buds, and return to your robotics in peace.

Hours later, you take out your ear buds and look over to find one of the most adorable sights you've seen in a while.

Jake is asleep at your computer. He's laying on his left arm, his pointer finger pressed down firmly on the letter "G." His mouth is slightly agape, his front teeth peeking out from his lips. A small line of drool is running down his arm.

Awww.

Carefully, silently, you walk over to where he's sleeping and look at the computer screen.

**TT: Hey. Dude. Where'd you go?**

**GT: gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg ggggggggggggggggggggg**

**TT: English. Hey. I see you sleeping over there. Wake up.**

**GT: gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg ggggggggggggggggggggg**

**TT: No, don't do this. Stop. It's really not cool. Falling asleep on me is the opposite of cool.**

**GT: gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg gggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg ggggggggggggggggggggg**

Gently, you pry Jake's finger off the keyboard. For a moment, you debate what to do next. A soft little blipping sound draws your attention back to the computer screen where AR has left a message for you.

**TT: Dude, just carry him back to his bed. You know you want to.**

You do. You really do. So without a second thought, you carefully collect Jake in your arms. He softly murmurs something about pumpkins but otherwise doesn't stir.

Carefully, quietly, you carry him back to his room. Toeing open the door, you gently lay him down on the green bedspread he bought a couple days ago. You pull out of the closet a darling orange blanket embroidered with a baseball cap design. Kanaya gave it to you years ago for a Secret Santa gift.

She was too nice. That year, you gave Karkat a jar of mayo and watched him wig out about it for no less than fifteen minutes. You smile at the memory and lightly lay the blanket atop Jake.

Your faces are so close that it really wouldn't be hard to lean in and kiss him now. He didn't wake up when you moved him. What are the chances that he'd wake up now?

Slowly, you lean in.

Closer…

_Closer…_

Your noses are almost touching when you pull away. Nope, this isn't right. You're not going to be _that_ creep.

Instead, you settle for ruffling his hair a bit and murmuring, "Goodnight Jake."

He sighs something about biscuits, making you smile as you close the door behind you.


	5. Strife!

**Chapter 5: Strife!**

* * *

**Dirk: Ask Jake about his past**

Sure. It's not like you have to do the work or anything. John already asked him.

Dave and John are over at your place for a videogame night. You've even made a tiny pixie-sized controller for John so that he can play Halo with you guys. He's actually pretty good. Not as good as you or Dave, but he can hold his own.

Jake, however, still sucks at Halo.

"Rats!" Jake exclaims loudly, as he dies mysteriously and awaits respawning.

"Dave that was cheap!" John complains as he dies for the same reason, tossing his mini-controller in front of him in exasperation.

"No it wasn't," Dave says back a little too quickly.

"Yes it was!" John growls back, his wings tensing behind him as he glares at your little bro. "Hiding in the glitch spot and sniping everyone is like the fucking definition of cheap!"

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first," Dave says snottily.

"No, I'm not. Stop cheating!" John demands.

"I'm not cheating," Dave insists. "It's strategy."

"Ugg, fine! Whatever! I'm not playing again until you pick a different _strategy_," John says. He pointedly flies over to the person the farthest away from Dave. That person would be Jake. He lands on his shoulder and sighs very loudly. "So JAKE. How are you doing over here? Bet you're not _cheating_, huh?"

"I'd never dream of it!" Jake exclaims good-naturedly. "It has always been my motto to give my opponents a fair fight!"

John somehow forgets about Dave for a second and looks at Jake with genuine interest. "Oh that's right, you worked somewhere else before here, didn't you?"

"I certainly did! My team and I hunted the demons of Derse across the pond and wore the most dapper hats!" Jake says, beaming with pride.

"The pond?" John asks, tilting his head askew.

"Another way of saying the Atlantic Fucking Ocean," Dave supplies.

"Yes, we hunted wherever there was need. Europe, Asia, Africa," Jake says, ticking the places off on his fingers, having suddenly lost interest in the game entirely. Dave snipes him off again, but he doesn't seem to even notice. "We even traveled to Australia!"

"Cool!" John exclaims. And even though it leaves you open for Dave to snipe you, you do glance over at the two of them. Jake and John both have the same doofy grins on their faces. It's adorable and totally worth the kill.

Jake regales you with tales of fearsome demons that he and his crew hunted down for days. Demons that terrorized everything from cities to small villages. His tales are full of adventure, hunting for days at times before even catching sight of their target. When he speaks, he's filled with an enthusiasm that he only has when he's talking about his pistols. Or playing pool.

"I get the feeling you really liked what you did," John says, after Jake finishes his third exciting adventure story.

"That is an understatement, my friend," Jake says. He attempts to pick up the controller and actually play again, but Dave gets him within the first five seconds.

"So why did you ever leave? Why come here?" John asks the inevitable question.

Jake sighs, thumbing absently over the buttons of the controller. "Something happened. Something terrible. I lost most of my men, and—well, perhaps that is a story for another time."

You've had several lifetimes to interpret the subtle inflections of others. If you can catch the tiny tells of your brothers, you can certainly catch those of people like Jake. He's open as a child's storybook.

Jake is hiding something. Something _big_.

You'd been dancing around it for a while, but finally, you send a rocket into Dave's glitch spot, _finally_ killing the little shit. He exclaims loudly that you cheated, but you really don't care. You can't play this game anymore. Your attention is on Jake.

His viridian eyes are downcast into his lap, and there's an expression on his face that screams of pain and sorrow. Sure, you've only known Jake a few weeks, but you've never seen him look like this before. You've never seen him so torn, so anguished. There's a burning anger set deeply behind his eyes that is very different than the last time he was angry playing Halo. Last time, his anger was adorable and endearing. Last time, you had wanted to strife with him, to cuddle with him and sex him up.

This time, it's completely different. Jake's anger isn't directed at anyone. If you had to guess, it's at himself. His face is contorted in a way that makes it look like he's physically in pain, and even his breaths are becoming strangulated.

You wonder if he's going to cry.

He doesn't. Suddenly, he looks up, realizing that he's got an audience. All three of you are staring at him, and John's even flitted over into the safety of Dave's lap. His expression changes to one of embarrassment, and he stammers, "Strider, sorry, it seems I've been quite a ninny! Let's get back to this Halo, now shall we?"

There is so much you want to say to him, but you don't dare bring any of it up. Not right now. Especially not in front of Dave. So instead, you silently shake your head. "No. No more Halo. It's time for the ironic part of the evening."

John groans. "Nooooo not again!"

"Yes again. Always. Forever," you say, putting away the Xbox and pulling out the Wii U.

The title screen appears, filled with bright pastel colors. John groans. Dave sits in silence. Jake's mouth falls open. 'Flabbergasted,' you believe he would say. You're totally playing this game for the ironies. Totally. Not that you like it at all. Nope. It's definitely not the best game ever.

It's the My Little Pony Friendship is Magic game.

* * *

**Dirk: Skip ahead a few months, this is boring!**

Fuck no! You're not skipping past the best few months of your life! And you'd easily say that the short three months you've known Jake English have been some of the best times in your life.

He's actually a really good partner, which has made work easier. It's made getting over Roxy easier too. You'll never forget her, but at least the sharp pain of her loss has faded into a tolerable dull ache.

It also helps that Jake is easy on the eyes. And though you realized from day two that you liked Jake, you're starting to wonder if it hasn't become more than that. It's a tough call sometimes, since your incubus urges are at times hard to ignore. You start thinking things about people that you know you'd never think that way about normally.

People like John. You love the kid, but you don't love him the way your lil' bro loves him. When you start wanting to fuck John, you know it's time to high tail it out of your apartment and find something decent to snack/mack on.

It was difficult to get Jake to stay behind at first, but once he understood why you were "going out for a bit" he stopped complaining. You can't say you're overly fond of casual make-outs and sex with random people, but it's a part of life for you. Without it, you wouldn't be here.

It's times like this that you miss Roxy the most. You know she loved you, and in a very different way than you loved her. She _really_ loved you. You'd have had little freak pixie/incubus babies if it had been up to her. But you never felt that way about her. She meant the world to you, but she wasn't your world like you were hers. Roxy knew that, and she understood it. And yet, she never once hesitated to feed you when you needed it.

You never went far with her, nothing past gentle kisses and a little making-out. As much as you loved Roxy as a person, boobs just weren't your thing. You wish they could have been. You wish that you could have given Roxy everything she wanted, but you couldn't. But that doesn't mean your little make outs didn't bring her happiness. Happiness that you hungrily fed off. Thinking back on it now, you're a little disgusted at yourself that you used her like that, but she insisted it was ok. She wanted to help you out in any way she could.

You're starting to think you wouldn't mind if Jake offered something like that too. Ok, you definitely wouldn't mind. You're ready to tap that. But you won't. Not unless Jake wants it, and from the looks of things, he's more than happy just being best bros with you.

You can't say you mind. The hours you've spent fighting monsters, watching movies, playing videogames, and just hanging out have been great. Jake quickly worked his way into your heart and became your best friend.

As for Jake, you don't really know what he thinks of you. You can tell that he enjoys your company, but does he even like you? From the looks of things, you'd say he doesn't. Or maybe it's not that he doesn't. Maybe he just hasn't even thought about it.

You know that Jake admires you. He'll watch you for hours fascinated when you tinker around on your newest robotic creation. You'll finally have a robot body for AR soon, the computer program that you made of yourself a long time ago. It's been a while since you talked to AR, but you know he's still lingering around in the processing component of your shades and in your computer. You promised him a body someday, and you're coming closer to giving him that. Just a little longer.

You've even let Jake continue talking to AR on your computer. Something about conversing with a young version of you both amuses and frustrates Jake greatly. You're not really sure that you trust everything AR is saying to him, but you suppose you owe it to your computer counterpart to have actual social interaction every now and then. You think AR still talks to Jane, but the one he used to talk to the most was Roxy.

Your heart wrenches at the thought of her, as it does sometimes. Best think about Jake instead.

You've decided that you don't know a lot of things about Jake English. For example, you still aren't entirely certain what he is. You know he's not human, but he is very much _alive_. Like Roxy was alive. Not a weird state of undead like you.

You've tasted his energy a few times now, usually during your strifes. It always throws you off balance, and the score is now an embarrassing English: 10 Strider: 0. But when you're that close to him, you can't resist. You want to know what he is _so badly_, and you just can't seem to figure it out.

Your only clue is that he's sometimes off on nights of a full moon. He hunts your targets with the same precision and determination as usual, but he seems tired on these nights. He still insists on watching whatever godawful movie he has in mind, but quite a few times, he's fallen asleep on the couch half-way.

Could he be a werewolf? You've never known Bro to hire one of them before. He claims they're too reckless and that they can't be trusted. Jake doesn't taste like one to you, but it's been a long time since you've bedded one or even fought one long enough to feel its energy. The werewolves have been surprisingly calm and civil lately. If any of their number goes out of line, they take care of it before word ever reaches Bro.

You suppose the werewolf theory would explain a thing or two about Jake, but it doesn't seem to fit quite right. For instance, you've never once seen him actually turn into a wolf, which you feel is a requirement for the species.

So you're not sure what Jake is yet, but you will find out eventually. What you do know is that he was quite famous back where he came from. He also wasn't lying about not missing a shot. Jake is adept with any sort of firearm, a trait that comes in handy quite often. And when you do your research, you find out that he wasn't making up those stories he told John a few weeks ago.

Jake was indeed the leader of a group of vigilantes long ago. His men were all unique in their own way, and wore "dashing" hats and suits. They were very successful in hunting demons of the night, but something happened. Something that Jake still doesn't want to talk about. And frustratingly, you can't find information about it anywhere. Whatever happened, someone was damned good about covering it up.

He did tell you that after he lost a number of his men, he let the remainder go and continued hunting on his own. Many years later, he fell in with another demon hunting agency and eventually transferred out here because there was "more adventure in these parts."

Something about his past doesn't settle easily with you, and you know he isn't telling you the whole story. You figure that in due time, like everything else, he will spill it to you.

* * *

**Dirk: Go on a date with Jake**

Ha! You wish. You're nowhere near that part of your relationship! The best you can hope for is a bromantic evening of video games, junk food, and movies. That happens almost every night, so you can't complain.

You've been living with Jake English for five months now, and distressingly, he's become comfortable enough around you to trundle around in nothing but his boxers on warm summer evenings. Like tonight.

It's only distressing because you have to fight to keep your hands off him. You want to touch his exposed warm skin, taste him, _feel_ him... but you can't. You promised him that from the beginning. You wouldn't do anything with him unless he wanted it.

He's wearing his black boxers with little green cthulhu monsters tonight. Not that you keep track of every pair of boxers he owns or anything. No, you definitely don't do that.

"I say, Strider, after we finish tonight, would you care to watch that stunning new box office hit?" he asks, a spark in his vivid green eyes as he grins at you.

"You're not talking about that romantic comedy from last month's previews, are you?" You groan.

"The very one!" Jake agrees. "It will be simply delightful!"

You really disagree, but you find that you can never say no to him. Instead, you sigh, "only if you don't mind my commentary."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Strider, I'd be worried if you didn't."

You eat, take what Jake has dubbed a "legendary infinite shower," and arrive at work. You're ready to receive your assignment, finish it quickly, and catch the 10:30 movie of whatever-the-hell with Jake later. But you soon come to realize you'll be saved from that movie tonight. Though the sounds aren't audible from the lounge or bar, the back office hallway is filled with the muted sounds of screaming, hissing, and scratching.

Bro isn't in his office, so you find the next best person. Karkat, manager of the station.

The shrimpy troll is never happy to see you. Tonight is no exception. "Oh great. Another Strider up my ass. I think I'd rather swim in a pile of hoof-beast shit and choke on my own vomit than deal with another of you."

"Nice to see you too," you respond, long used to Karkat's abrasive nature. And his interesting adjectives for common words. "What's with all the screaming? Where's Bro?"

"The screaming is Meulin Leijon, the poor tortured soul. Dave caught her and brought her back to the station because I'm-a-fucking-pussy-John felt 'too sorry for her' to kill her," Karkat explains, making retching sounds when he finishes. "Your Bro is dealing with her in the cell right now. He said he wanted to see you when you came in. So please, go see him and get out of my ass."

You tisk at Karkat's flat ass. "Gladly. You're not really my type."

Karkat rants about sexual harassment and how overbearing it is working for incubi as he walks away, but your attention is on the door that leads to the prison cells below. You waste no time pulling open the door, but as you hold it open for Jake, you notice that his cheerful expression has fallen grim. His eyes are hard and his brow is slightly furrowed. "You ok?" you ask him.

"Y-yes," he stammers quickly, in a way that you know he's fibbing a little. When you level a glare at him, he dips his head and admits, "you know how Damara was kind of obsessed with me?"

He pauses, as if he doesn't really want to continue. "Go on," you urge him.

"Well Meulin kind of is too?" Jake finishes quietly. "I don't really understand it."

"So all the crazies have a thing for you. So what?" You ask with a grin. "Damara's gone, and Meulin is locked away in the safest cell I know of. They can't hurt you."

"I suppose you're right," he murmurs, following you in almost a defeated way.

When you reach the cell, you find your Bro kneeling beside the bars, sliding a glass of milk through the enchanted metal rods. From the large gashes in the enchanted steel walls, you know that Meulin Leijon has been scratching away, trying to get out. She hisses at the walls in fury as she shrivels away from them.

"Now now, you won't be able to get out that way," Bro chides her, using the voice that he used on you and Dave when you were kids. "I know you're upset, but you've got to stay here for a little while. We can't just let you go."

"Bro, you remember she can't hear, right?" you ask, walking up beside him. You're not entirely clear on how Meulin lost her hearing, but you vaguely remember that her boyfriend Kurloz was to blame. Despite that fact, she still seemed to love him, fighting viciously for him.

You will never understand women.

"Yeah I know," he sighs. "I wish John had just finished the job. He's too kind for his own good. Look at her, she doesn't belong in a cell. She's a feral animal."

Meulin finally notices the milk in her cage and pounces on it happily. She laps at the milk in the glass, dipping her tongue into the liquid and purring in appreciation. She's finished half the glass before she finally glances up and notices you. Then her gaze slides over to Jake.

She drops the milk onto the ground, forgotten as she springs up against the bars in happiness. Her face is split with an ecstatic grin as she reaches for him through the bars.

"Woah!" Jake exclaims, backing away.

"Jesus, what the fuck just happened to her?" you question, following suit and taking a couple steps back.

"Ugh," Bro groans, clutching a hand to his head. "I'm not sure. She just keeps thinking 'ENGLISH ENGLISH ENGLISH!' over and over again. Her mind's a fucking broken record."

Seeing that you aren't coming any closer, her head droops and she pouts, her hands clutching the bars sadly.

"She says she doesn't want us to be scared of her. She won't hurt us," Bro says, no doubt dipping into her mind. "She's just really happy to see Jake."

"You know her?" you ask, arching an eyebrow at Jake.

He shakes his head. "Not really. I mean, I did have to fight her once, but I don't recall meeting her any other time."

Meulin gazes intently at Jake's lips, likely reading them, and huffs indignantly. Bro interprets, "she's insulted. She says she helped you in the past."

"She did?" Jake asks incredulously, blinking at her through his thick glasses. Slowly, he kneels beside her cage and tentatively reaches out a hand to her. "I'm so sorry little one, I don't remember that."

Bro frowns, murmuring, "she says Kurloz warned her that might happen."

Meulin nuzzles his hand with her head, smiling happily.

"She's glad that she got to see you again," Bro murmurs slowly, turning to Jake. "You sure you don't know her, English?"

"Positive," Jake sighs, exasperated. "I only dueled her once, and she was like this the whole time. It wasn't exactly a fair fight," he admits sheepishly. "But once she expired, Kurloz appeared. I don't know where the blazes he was hiding, but he was a much more formidable adversary!"

"I'd be happy if I never had to see that psycho clown again," you mutter.

Meulin's eyes happened to be on your mouth when you said that, and she sits up, affronted again. Her eyes narrow and her cheeks puff up.

"She says Kurloz isn't bad, he's just being used," Bro interprets, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, she's got a lot of intel on a large demon base nearby. It's—extensive."

Bro winces, clasping a head to the side of his head again. With an exasperated sigh, he takes off his orange cap, rakes his fingers through his hair, and repositions the hat back on his head. "Ugh, look, I hate to break it to ya, but reading her frantic thoughts is really taxing. It's like a fucking ICP concert full of rainbow Faygo showers in there. Let's wrap this up and head back outside."

"Thank you," Jake murmurs to Meulin, squeezing her hand. She purrs happily in response. He smiles warmly at her again, then stands up and follows you outside.

"Why'd you thank her?" you ask.

"She claims to have helped me in the past. I don't remember it, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't thank her for it," Jake explains in that good natured way of his. And you wonder why you're in love with this guy.

—wait. _Love?_

You think about it a moment and realize it's true. Ugh. Fuck fuck fuck.

When did that happen? Half a year ago you didn't even know Jake. How did you grow to love him so fast?

Maybe you don't really love him. Maybe you're just hungry.

You quickly do your own Dirk-patented test. John Egbert. Do you want to screw John Egbert?

Fuck no. You think of some colorful Karkat-esque phrases of things you'd rather do than bone your lil' bro's fairy boyfriend.

Well shit. You do love Jake.

Bro glances back at you as he walks and you realize that this was a very stupid time to have this epiphany. He doesn't say anything though and instead simply leads the way into his office. When you get inside, he shuts the door and sighs. When he opens his mouth to speak, you're thankful that it's not about your relationship woes. "You saw how defensive Meulin was about Kurloz. That means he's out there. She claims he's not a threat, but if we're holding her captive here, you can bet your ass he'll be shortly behind."

"So you want us to stay here and protect the fort?" You ask.

"Negative, lil' man," Bro shakes his head immediately. "You've got work to do out there."

You're about to protest when Jake, of all people steps in. "I say, they seem to have no shortage of demon hunters." And as you glance around, you realize it's true. Everyone who works here, even shrimpy shouty guys like Karkat, are all capable hunters. Bro wouldn't have hired them otherwise.

"Got that right. And don't forget, the best hunter of us all is here," Bro says, with a grin. "Me."

"Yeah yeah," You mutter back at him, but you know it's true. Bro can whoop some sick-nasty butt when he feels like it.

"Now get outta here," he says, shoving a paper with your assignments on it into your hand. You see a playful smirk on his lips and suddenly dread what he's going to say next. "With any luck you'll finish early and be able to catch that 10:30 show."

As Jake lights up, you scowl. You officially hate your bro.

Except that you don't actually hate him, or the movie either.

Ok, that was a lie. You do hate this film. It's a predictable piece of garbage with a poor excuse for plot and acting, but you don't mind sitting next to Jake in the theaters. You really don't.

Jake of course is far too tuned into the movie to possibly notice the light way your arms are brushing each other's on the armrest, or that you've inched your left leg over enough so that it's touching his. When your hands both brush each other's, reaching for the overpriced bag of Red Vines you purchased from the concession stand (Jake has an uncanny sweet tooth), you can almost taste his energy. Just the smallest of skin on skin is enough to make you smile.

Not that anyone can see you smiling in the theater. Because you don't smile. You smirk or grin. You're a Strider damnit, and Striders are too cool for smiling.

But you definitely enjoy it, like you do every time your skin meets his. You relish everything from the light brush of his fingertips as he hands you a screwdriver while you're working to the rough tackles when you play a sporting game of "fisticuffs." You certainly don't mind when he pins you, or vice versa.

And you want to take it farther. Your body and heart ache for Jake English. But, you promised him you wouldn't feed off him, and you haven't. Not yet.

But you've tasted. From just the gentle touches you've had, you know Jake is warm and sweet, but daring and bold, and just the right balance of happiness and naivety. You know Bro would roll his eyes and mock you for your descriptions, but you would challenge him to describe the way energy tastes better.

Jake is perfect. You wonder why you never realized you loved him sooner.

**timaeusTestified [TT]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** at 12:47

_**TT: Yeah I know. Took you long enough.**_

It's been a while since the orange text has flashed across your view, broadcasted for your eyes alone on the sunglasses that you wear even inside the movie theater. You don't move or give any indication that you're doing anything. Just your thoughts are enough to reach the machinery in your sunglasses to send your words to AR. And you really don't mind missing out on this movie anyway.

_**TT: Yep. Why do you think I'm talking to you now?**_

"_You seem to think you know a lot," _you think back to your computerized half.

_**TT: Correction, I DO know a lot. Way more than you, in fact. While you've been spending these months chasing around short-shorts and fighting demons, I've only been getting smarter.**_

You smirk, amused with the way you used to think when you were younger.

_**TT: Correction, I'm at least 2,394 times as old as you now in computer years. So really, you're younger than me. By a lot.**_

You sigh, remembering how irritating it is talking to the younger you. "_What do you want, AR?"_

_**TT: Nothing. Just the sweet satisfaction of rubbing this in your face: I figured it out a few months ago.**_

"_Figured out what?"_ you think back, the tiniest hint of a frown on your lips.

_**TT: That you're in love with Jake. Don't worry, bro, I've got your back. I've been slipping him the hints. Getting him to try loving you back.**_

"_You've been WHAT?"_ You are going to fry him. You're going to break his program right now and end him.

_**TT: Dude, hear me out. Don't shut me off yet. If you want to get Jake, you're going to have to be a little more blunt. I'm you, so I love him too, but even I know he's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.**_

Much as you hate to admit it, AR has a point. But you're not about to start something. You don't want to risk pushing Jake away.

_**TT: Trust me, you won't push him away. Jake is stubborn as the door on your old apartment. He won't give up so easily.**_

The movie ends, and you hastily cease your conversation with AR. Even though you could sit next to Jake all evening, the movie theater ushers are glaring at you impatiently with their brooms, ready to sweep away the popcorn other people have left on the floor. Jake, being the gentleman he is, quickly vacates his seat and gets out of their way. He also stops touching your arm in the process.

You can't taste him anymore. You sigh. Life isn't fair sometimes, but you'll deal. As you walk to your Jeep, you pull out your phone, noticing that you have a missed call. Yes, you turn your phone off during movies, you're not _that_ much of a douchebag.

You weren't sure who you were expecting to hear, but John's voice catches you by surprise. He sounds frantic, though his voice is loud and clear. He must have been shouting into the phone. You aren't sure where he was, though, because his reception is terrible.

"_Dirk! You've gotta... it's really bad!... help him he's_…." John's voice is cut by static, rendering most of his message useless, but you hear his last few words clear as a crisp winter evening. "…. _I don't want him to die._"

Die? You stiffen, pausing for a moment while your mind quickly processes everything.

Who is John talking about?

...There's only one person John would sound so distraught over.

...It has to be your lil' bro Dave.

But what could possibly be wrong?

...He's out of energy.

...The kid was fine last time you saw him.

...Someone hurt him.

Who hurt him?

...One of his targets.

...Meulin was probably their biggest target, and she's sitting in a cell.

...Someone unexpected.

Get more specific.

...Someone who came after _him_.

Who would come after him?

...Bro hurt him in a strife.

...Bro would never hurt Dave like that, you dipshit.

...Someone who had a reason to go after him.

...Someone like…?

...Someone like Kurloz.

You have to get to him right now.

Where is he?

...Probably back at his apartment.

...No, Kurloz probably took him somewhere.

Where would Kurloz want to go?

...He'd want to find Meulin.

...He's probably at Bro's lounge.

The whole thought process only takes a second or two, but it's long enough for Jake to peer at you strangely from across the Jeep and ask, "Strider?"

"Get in. I have a feeling we don't have much time," you tell him. You quickly jump in, and as Jake follows suit, you fire up the engine and peel down the road.

* * *

**Dirk: Save your lil' bro**

You can smell and hear the destruction before you're there. When you pull up to your usual parking spot, you can finally see that the place is a total mess. Glass from several windows litters the sidewalk, and even the front door has been blown off its hinges. You and Jake hurry inside.

The place is a mess. Broken liquor bottles litter the barroom floor, and it looks like many of the tables and chairs have been slashed to several pieces. The lounge isn't in much better shape, and in the back offices, the floor is a receptionist's nightmare, littered with papers and debris. You wince as you notice the fallen bodies of many bar regulars and your comrades on the ground, their bodies sliced open and mangled in a terrifying way. You didn't think Kurloz was this destructive last time you fought him.

"Strider, this is—" Jake murmurs beside you, his green eyes wide and his expression appalled.

You wave his comment aside with your hand. Whatever, there isn't time to think about it right now. "Keep moving," you mutter back quietly, doing your best not to alert anyone to your presence.

There are sounds coming from the basement, where you know Meulin is being held captive. The scuffle of battle reaches your ears, and the very distinct sound of Kanaya revving up her chainsaw. You also hear Bro's katana striking metal. You have to help them.

You hurry through the door to the basement and down the stairs.

The only thing that saves you from a face-full of ninja stars are your fast Strider reflexes. You manage to shove Jake aside and push yourself away from them just in time. The sharp clank of metal hitting the stairs behind you dulls in your ears as your eyes widen behind your shades. You literally can't believe your eyes.

Bodies of your demon-hunting coworkers are strewn across the floor. Terezi lays in a pool of her own blood not far from you, her lifeless hands still clutching the sword adapted from her cane. Not far away is Kanaya's chainsaw, kicked far away from where she appears to be knocked out against the wall.

The towering demon Kurloz is the very embodiment of the macabre itself. He stands silently in the corner beside the prison cell still holding Meulin. She's gripping the bars tightly, anxiously watching and waiting. Though Kurloz is a terrifying force, with mental manipulation powers far greater than any other you've seen, you know it wasn't him that killed the people upstairs.

How had you ignored the clear signs? It should have been obvious to you more than anyone. The one who killed them wasn't Kurloz at all.

It was Bro.

Bro stands ready, his katana held in both hands and prepared to strike. He's taken a traditional battle stance, and even though Kurloz is towering literally right behind him, he's got his eyes on you.

"Bro?" you question, in disbelief, but he doesn't respond to you. Instead, he flash-steps behind you, his blade already in motion.

You're no stranger to a strife with Bro. You manage to counter him with your own katana, but his surprise attack draws blood on your upper arm. Immediately, he lunges at you again, and again, you're just fast enough to keep up and parry him.

You don't waste time questioning Bro anymore. He wouldn't choose to strife you with enemies nearby. Bro isn't himself. Something, or rather, _someone_ is doing this to him.

It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. You chance a glance in Kurloz's direction and notice that, beneath the wild strands of black hair, his dark eyes are trained on Bro. The demon's mouth is still self-sewn shut, but you know not to be fooled by that. Kurloz is a telepath too, but unlike Bro, he doesn't just read thoughts. Like Eridan, he can insert his own thoughts into other's heads. But, Kurloz is far older than Eridan. With time and age he has picked up some unfortunately useful skills.

Kurloz can make his thoughts more than mere suggestions. He can make them commands.

Bro is being controlled by him.

You've taken a moment too long to observe all of these things, and in that moment, you're just slow enough for Bro to catch your leg with the tip of his katana, tearing a gash through your pants and drawing blood again. You don't waste time wincing at the pain, instead keeping your attention fully on Bro.

Quite frankly, you're a little worried. You've never been able to best Bro in a strife. Mind-controlled or no, you're not sure if today is the lucky day you'll be able to beat him.

But what other choice do you have?

Oh right. You do have a partner.

"Jake!" you shout, grunting as Bro shoulders you roughly into the wall. "Take down Kurloz!"

You don't know if Jake is just standing there or not. You wouldn't be surprised if he is. He does seem to freeze up at the most inconvenient times. Unlike last time, though, you don't think you'll have your lil' bro's fairy boyfriend to bail you out.

Where are they anyway?

You know it isn't safe, but you peel your eyes from Bro again just long enough to sweep your gaze around the room. Dave's not here.

You've taken your eyes off Bro, and of course, he's managed to slice into you again, this time catching your left cheek before you can flash-step away. It's an all-out flash-stepping war from this point on. A war that Bro is slowly winning.

You don't know how long you can keep this up. In the past, you might have been tempted to just let Bro win, knowing that he wouldn't actually kill you. But after seeing what he did to the people upstairs, and Terezi and Kanaya down here, you know you can't afford to do that.

Finally, the deafening sound of a shotgun rings out, followed by another and another. The bullets never touched Bro, but like a broken puppet, he suddenly staggers and falls to the ground.

"About fucking time, Jake!" You grunt, flicking your gaze over to where Kurloz and Meulin are now a pile of dust on the ground. You're a little surprised that Jake would kill Meulin too, but maybe he thought it was mercy?

"Jake? Please. Bro would have sliced your nookhumping carcass into pathetic ribbons that would have festered and molded for at least a _fucking decade_ if you were waiting for that worthless douchecrumpet."

You swing your attention over to that familiar grating voice and find one Karkat Vantas holding a shotgun. You blink in surprise. You didn't know he was big enough to use a shotgun. Much less use it well.

He sighs, correctly interpreting your silence, "Yes, I know how to use a shotgun, so stop staring at me like a kid who lost his first fucking chewing enamel. I don't prefer it, but there's no way in hell I'm getting close enough to grubfucking psychic Makara for him to work his mind-control douchery on me. Look at what it did to Bro! Half our office is gone."

"That many?" Bro murmurs quietly, struggling to sit up.

Despite the fact that you were fighting him for your life not a few seconds ago, you feel a twinge of pity for him. You're at his side helping him up before you realize it. "Yeah," you agree with Karkat. "It's pretty bad upstairs."

"Fuck," he swears quietly under his breath. Quickly, he turns his gaze to Karkat and says, "I need you to help the others upstairs. Anyone who's still alive. Call in Jane. We're going to need her."

Karkat visibly blanches. "Do we have to call her? We could—" A single glare from Bro is enough to make him sigh. "Fine fine, one Crocker bitch coming your way."

Silence settles into the dingy basement room after Karkat disappears upstairs. For a few moments, Bro doesn't say anything, but you see a muscle in his jaw flickering. You know he's clenching his teeth, silently furious at himself. If you know Bro, and by now you'd hope that you do, he's having some pretty dark thoughts.

"Kurloz was controlling you," you say quietly. "This wasn't your fault."

"Like hell it wasn't," he growls lowly, removing his cap so that he can rake a distraught hand through his hair, clenching it at the end. "Kurloz got to me _easier_ because I'm a telepath. I couldn't block him out."

"Then that's something you'll just have to work on," you murmur. "But we have other things to worry about right now."

Like Dave.

You tense, suddenly recalling John's frantic phonecall. "Hey, have you seen Dave tonight?"

"Not since he brought in Meulin. Why?" Bro asks, a new look of concern in his expression. His eyes are still shielded by his shades, but his sudden alertness, the way he leans forward ever so slightly, his fingers twitching slightly, are all clues.

You try to hide your worry, but you know that with Bro it's no use. He can read you just like you can read him. Probably better. So you might as well just spit it out. "John called a little while ago. He sounded more freaked out than usual."

"Fuck," Bro growls again. He's on his feet, flashstepping to the staircase before you realize it. "I've gotta get to him."

You flashstep beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Solemnly, you shake your head. "Nah, Bro, you've got a lot to handle here. I'll take care of him. Where'd you send him?"

Bro shakes his head. "That's the problem. I didn't send him anywhere else. He could be anywhere. He could be—"

"Chill," you tell him. "I know his usual hangouts. I'll find our baby bro and make sure he's safe."

You can see Bro visibly struggling with your suggestion, but eventually he nods. "Ok, we'll play it your way. But at the _first_ sign of trouble—"

"I'll call you. Got it," you finish for him, ushering him upstairs.

Now that Bro is off your back, you finally notice that Jake's still just standing there awkwardly. You wonder if he feels bad for freezing up again. Instead of asking him that, you lean in a bit closer to him and ask, "hey, English, you ok?"

He seems to snap out of it, blinking a few times behind his adorably nerdy glasses.

…no. You did _not_ just think the words "adorable" and "nerdy" in the same sentence.

"Strider, my apologies, I seem to have been quite useless once again," Jake murmurs distraughtly. When you look a little closer into his jungle green eyes, he seems a bit more panicked than usual.

You frown, deciding that doesn't suit Jake. "Whatever, it's ok. I can hold my own against Bro."

You totally can't. You wonder if Jake knows that, but if he does, he doesn't give any indication. Instead, he gives you a small smile and says, "of course! Never a doubt!"

You can tell that he's trying really hard to be cheerful, but something's really bugging him. But you don't have time to ask him right now. You can get all those details out of him later. Right now you have more important things to do.

You've still got a little brother to save.

* * *

LateNiteSlacker's Notes:

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Even those of you not living in the states. ;)

Ugh. Fanfiction dot net has made my formatting ridiculously junky. The section with all the "..." symbols should _not_ look like that, but it was the best way to get my original point across. Sorry it couldn't be prettier, but I hope it still made sense!


	6. Into the Darkness of Derse

**Chapter 6: Into the Darkness of Derse**

* * *

**Dirk: Save your lil' bro for real this time!**

You're working on it, all right?

You're halfway down the road when it hits you. The uncertainty. It's a part of you that you hate and desperately try not to show anybody. To this point, you don't _think_ anyone knows about it, though let's not kid yourself, Bro knows everything about you. Dave probably does too.

You're feeling this way because you have no idea what you're up against. You don't even know if you're headed in the right direction. You _think_ Dave probably would have picked up a pizza and headed home, but you're not sure. He might have wanted to go somewhere with John tonight. Maybe he decided to pay Rose a visit? You couldn't say for sure that he's anywhere.

You don't know for _certain_, and it's driving you mad. You're a fan of numbers. You like having a definite answer. You're great at robotics for a reason, because you're fantastic at deducing, problem solving, and finding the correct solution.

None of that quite fits in here. You could play the percentage game, but you hate knowing that your baby bro's life rests on a 68% chance that he went home. That there's a 35% chance that whatever he and John couldn't take down is more powerful than you and Jake can handle. You don't even know what the percentage is that Jake will freeze up on you again, but that seems to be happening more as of late than you'd like too. If he freezes on you, that number goes up from a 35% to a 73%...

"-Strider?"

You suddenly realize that Jake has been talking to you. "Huh?" you answer smartly.

"You seem deep in thought. I apologize, I shouldn't disturb you," he murmurs in a way that is so _not_ Jake that you find yourself frowning.

"Don't apologize for my inattention. What did you want to say?"

"I umm, heh," Jake laughs half-heartedly, scratching the back of his head in that tell-tale manner that he's extremely embarrassed about something. Not that you really have to look for his tells, though Jake has so many of them. You just happen to look for these things now after decades of dealing with Bro. Also Jake's little tells are cute. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, mate. You know, for being a ninny again. I wanted to help, but I couldn't—"

You realize he's talking about Kurloz. And your fight with Bro. If Karkat hadn't shown up, you have no doubt that you'd both be sliced to pieces on the basement floor by now.

"It's ok," you interject, not wanting him to have to continue on that line of thought anymore. It makes you feel a little bad to see him so uncomfortable. "But a little warning next time?"

He nods. "I'll try."

You realize right after you say it that he _has_ been trying to warn you, in his own Jake-like way. His apprehension, when he's usually so gung-ho about jumping into the thick of adventure. The way he stammers over his words even more than usual. His odd silence. They're all so _not_ _Jake_ that you're not sure how you missed it before.

You give him what you hope is a reassuring pat on the arm. You're not sure if it is though, because as soon as you touch him, you instinctively recoil. Touching his bare skin with yours, you couldn't help but taste his energy.

You've tasted Jake before, just earlier tonight in fact. He's wild, exciting, and innocent. It's part of what you love about him.

But what you taste isn't quite right. It's still Jake, but there's an underlying bitterness now, hinting ever so slightly of Kurloz and… Damara?

You want to doubt yourself, you really do, but you've never been wrong before. It's one of the many gifts and curses of your kind. You can tell when someone's left their influence laying around, mentally, physically, or spiritually.

Whether he realizes it or not, Damara and Kurloz have definitely influenced Jake. You aren't sure why you didn't pick up on Damara's influence before. Maybe Kurloz's added effect brought hers out more?

Maybe Damara's back?

You inwardly shiver at both of the possibilities. You have to check his energy again. You have to be sure. There's no way to be inconspicuous about it, but right now you don't care. So you reach out for him again.

Jake laughs lightly as you pat his arm again. Giving you a shy smile, he says, "Strider, I appreciate the concern, but I'll be all right."

Like flipping a switch, the influence is gone. Jake's energy is clean again.

What is going on?

Normally, you would ask Jake about it, but you have other things to be concerned about right now. It leaves you wary as you pick up the speed to Dave's place.

The Jeep peels to a stop in front of the ritzy high-rise condominium complex. Dave, showboat that he is, lives in the top penthouse of this premium lakefront property. It takes you all of .02 seconds to decide, "we're taking the stairs."

"The stairs?" Jake blanches, gazing up at the 95 story building. "Didn't someone warn you about the stairs? Bro, perhaps?"

"Bro's a wimp when it comes to stairs," you scoff. "Besides, the power's out."

Jake blinks, likely just realizing that the entire building is dark. "Why so it is. Stairs it is, then!"

You lead the way, easily slipping into the building through a side maintenance door and beginning the long ascent up to the top floor. It doesn't take you two very long to get to the top. You'd like to think that you're in pretty good shape, but even you start to feel it a bit when you reach the 95th floor. Jake is breathing a bit hard beside you too, and when you gaze at him, you can't help but wish that he would be beside you breathing like that for an entirely different reason.

His warm body next to yours, his breath hot on your neck, _saying that he __**wants you**_, his cheek pressed against yours, fingers digging into your hair as you pull his hips closer to you and—

You push your inner incubus away and ignore Jake's sexy pants beside you, focusing your attention on what lies ahead. Slipping into the hallway, you take a small breath when you realize that the door to Dave's house is ajar. Dave, like you, is a fan of his own personal space. He would never leave the door open like that.

Looks like you guessed right. Your little bro went home. Now it's time to see who's threatening to hurt him and to kick some major ass.

You indicate toward the door with your head, silently drawing your katana, and Jake nods in understanding, bringing out his double pistols. Stealthily, you sneak in.

The power is out, unsurprisingly, leaving the room nearly impossible to see, especially with your shades on. But you won't take them off. You know Dave's place well enough to get around without tripping. You keep your senses alert, watching for any signs of movement.

With a nod of your head, you send Jake toward the kitchen while you check out the living room. It's clear, and the guest bathroom and bedroom are both clear too. You meet up with Jake again at the hallway. He shakes his head, telling you that he didn't find anything either.

Together you turn down the hallway. The study is clear, his DJ room is clear, the second guest bathroom is clear.

Tension is beginning to build in your stomach. There are only two more rooms left. You're not sure whether you will be more or less relieved to find something, or someone, there.

Slowly you creep forward. John's bedroom is clear. That leaves only one room left.

Your ears perk up. There's a slight rustling coming from Dave's room. Some twisted part inside you really hopes that you walk in on your little bro having sex. He might hate you a little for it, but it would certainly beat finding him dusted on the ground. Stealthily, you slink inside.

The room is dark. Too dark to make out anything, but you can tell that something is alive in this room. Something that might have killed your little bro. Something—

Jake walks in front of you, putting his guns away. "You can come out," he says in a way that almost sounds—friendly? "It's just Dirk and I."

A small ball of blue light peeks out from the top dresser drawer, illuminating the room in a soft blue glow. "John," you breathe a sigh of relief, sheathing your katana and walking over to him.

"Hey guys," he says quietly. His voice is soft and a bit raspy. It sounds like he's been crying.

Jake reaches out to him, scooping John up in his hands from amidst the piles of Dave's unmatched socks. "Are you all right?" he asks gently.

"Yeah," John says, though he sniffles, affirming your thoughts from before. "I'm glad you guys came, but—but it's already too late. They already took him."

John looks at you and pulls his signature move, flying into your chest and hugging your clavicle, his tiny little tears moistening your skin. You don't need to taste his energy to tell how he's feeling. John's an absolute mess. "Who took him?" you ask, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the fear and anger burning inside you.

John's voice is a little muffled as he talks into your chest, but you can tell what he's saying. "Agents from Derse. They came for Dave and took him. Dave threw me inside his sock drawer. They must not have noticed me. By the time I got out, they were gone. I found his phone and called you."

A chill runs up your spine. Agents? You've heard of them before. The Agents are Derse's most elite hunters. Usually they stay in Derse, and rarely do they ever show themselves outside. You've never had to face them before, and to your knowledge, Bro hasn't either.

"Agents," Jake murmurs, his expression darkening as his eyes narrow.

"Have you fought them before?" you ask.

"I have unfortunately had that pleasure," he responds, quietly.

"You have?!" John perks up, his voice a bit on the hysterical side. "What are they going to do to Dave? Are they gonna—"

"They won't kill him," Jake interjects quickly. You feel John's apprehension dissipate just a little bit. "They'll take him back to Derse and lock him in a cell."

"Lock him in a cell?!" John squeaks. "He'll die if they don't feed him!"

"They should provide sustenance," Jake reflects, gazing off to the side deep in thought. "Bread, water…"

"Bread and water?! Do they know what he eats?!" John laments, falling down into your waiting hands. Miserably, he gazes up at you, his bright blue eyes filled with sadness. "Dirk, we have to save him! I don't want Dave to die."

"I don't want him to die either," you softly agree. "We're going to get him back."

"It's possible," Jake nods in agreement. "Not easy, but possible. We need to find a stable portal to Derse. One that will support transferring us there and back. Most of the portals the demons use don't fit that bill. I would suggest talking this through with your Bro first. He might have a better idea where we could find a stable route of travel."

"Bro's gonna flip his shit," you mutter, sighing as you start the slow descent back down the stairs.

* * *

**Dirk: Save your lil' bro!**

You're trying ok?!

Admittedly, you're more relaxed after hearing what Jake has to say. The Dersites tend to prefer locking up their enemies for unknown lengths of time instead of killing them. You'll have to assume Dave is in the former group over the latter.

Bro does indeed flip his shit. By the time you get back, he has the place largely cleaned up. Even some of the coworkers you had passed by before, very dead coworkers, are very much alive now and are helping clean the place up. There's no sign of the patrons whose bodies were laying around the bar. Either they've moved on to the next realm, or they hightailed it out of there once they were revived.

You find the cause sitting on the couch in Bro's office, sipping a cup of coffee. "Hiya boys," Jane grins, glancing sideways at you and John from behind thick glasses and waving at you with two fingers. She's dressed in a casual t-shirt boasting her favorite ectoplasmic creatures and a short denim skirt. Though the weather doesn't necessitate it, she's wearing a fashionable thin beige scarf that shimmers when it hits the light right and matching boots.

"Long time no see," you offer, holding out your hand for a fist-bump. Her grin widens as she bumps your fist back.

"You've been MIA for a while," she comments with a pout. "Talking to AR is cool and all, but why haven't you been online lately?"

You shrug, accidentally knocking John a little off balance from his perch on your shoulder with the motion. "Been a little preoccupied."

Jane looks skeptical, but she seems to buy it. Truthfully, you'd consider telling her about your little Jake crush if he weren't standing right behind you in the doorway. And if Bro wasn't surely lurking around somewhere nearby.

Jane's a good friend of yours. Though technically you've only known her for a few years, she quickly became one of your best friends. Gifted with the ability to give life back to the dead, she's one of the few humans that ever graces this place. Some would call her a witch. You would call those people jealous.

"Jane?" Jake asks, his voice filled with disbelief.

"Oh my god, Jake? Jake English? Is that you?!" Jane's off the couch pronto and leaping into Jake's awaiting arms. Something small and uncomfortable twinges in your heart at the sight, but you do your best to ignore it. Jane pulls back from him and she's all smiles. "What are you doing away from the homeland?"

"More excitement and adventure to be had over here, my girl!" he says, winking at her.

"No kidding!" she says far more enthusiastically than you'd like.

"Nope, no kidding at all!" he agrees, in a statement that frankly baffles you but has them both laughing. What the hell is going on?

"You know each other?" you ask.

"Oh yeah, Jake and I go way back!" Jane exclaims.

"Way _way_ back," Jake agrees, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Wait. Suggestively? What?

Jane giggles and you think you've had enough of this. You clear your throat, drawing their attention back to you. "Any idea where Bro is?" you ask impatiently, reminding Jake, "we still have a little bro to save."

Jane looks over at you with concern. "What happened to Dave?"

Like a phantom, Bro's suddenly standing by your side too. "Yes, what happened to Dave?"

You can feel John getting worked up again from his perch on your shoulder. "Derse agents took him back to Derse!" he exclaims, fluttering in front of Bro's face. His eyes are the biggest you think you've ever seen them, and the bright blue depths look at Bro imploringly. "Is there a portal around stable enough to take us to Derse and back? We have to save him!"

Bro tenses, his body knotted up like a tight spring beneath his simple popped-collar white shirt. You can tell he's thinking, weighing the options. It takes him a moment before he replies, "yes, I think there is one."

You feel a spark of hope ignite in your chest. "Where?" you ask.

"It won't be easy to get to," Bro murmurs cryptically.

He's right.

The heat sears at your skin as you ride your rocket-board straight into the lava belching maw of the volcano. Normally, you'd be thrilled to have Jake pressed against your back as tightly as he is, gripping your waist with an iron hold. But right now, you've got something bigger on your mind. Something like properly steering this thing into the tiny portal only slightly bigger than a child's hula-hoop.

"Not that I don't trust you, but do you think we can fit in that itty bitty hole?" John screams into your ear over the rush of the wind, clinging desperately to your sleeve.

"I've fit into smaller holes," you instantly respond, unable to resist despite the situation.

"Groooooooooooss! You AND Dave both—ugh!" You can feel John's eyeroll. "That is SO not what I meant!"

Whatever he was about to say is suddenly lost in a scream as you dive closer and closer to the lava, spiraling into the volcano. The intense heat would be unbearable for a normal human. Luckily, none of you are. You're not sure what Jake is, but he seems to be fine though he clings to you even tighter. Jane wanted to come along, but it was this very reason that kept her back at the lounge with Bro. He also wanted to come but reluctantly admitted that he was needed here in the unlikely (but possible) case that you don't return.

But you will come back. You're sure of it. And you're bringing your little bro back with you.

The lava is now only a few feet away, and your whole body feels like it's on fire. The portal is just a bit bigger than it looked from above, but it still leaves very little room for error. Good thing you have lots of practice using your rocketboard. You duck down, pulling John and Jake with you as you grip the bottom of your board. "Hang on," you instruct them, like they'd do anything else, as you dive through the portal.

The heat reaches an almost unbearable degree, and suddenly you're through. A wave of cold air washes over you and the bright light of the volcano vanishes into the dreary darkness of Derse.

You don't think there are any lights in this city. Instead, a deep purplish glow seems to emanate from the very buildings and ground, casting a soft light on everything. If Bro were here, he'd surely be taking notes on how to jazz up his lounge.

Luckily, the portal dumped you into a secluded back alley. You don't think anyone saw you arrive. Why a portal leads from a volcano to this alleyway is really beyond you, but you'll take it.

Jake uneasily steps off your rocketboard, looking just a little dizzy. "Strider, that was quite the ride!"

After AR's little speech about being bolder, you decide a little flirting wouldn't hurt. After half a second of hesitation, you say, "glad it was good for you too." You smirk at him suggestively, and watch as his delicious throat swallows down whatever words he was about to stammer out.

He manages to respond with, "you do seem to be a pro."

John finally flies off your shoulder and flutters in between you two, looking at you incredulously. "Seriously? You're going to flirt with him _right now_? Come on! We have to save Dave!"

Yeah, you know. That's what you're here for. You nod at him, scooping him out of the air and placing him back on your shoulder. "Best keep a low profile while we're here," you remind him.

John sighs, "yeah I know."

In the interest of being inconspicuous, you hand your rocketboard to Jake, who stores it away wherever he puts his giant guns. You don't question it.

You've heard details about Derse from some of the patrons of Bro's bar over the years. They'd described this place to you and told you about the theme. Kanaya even made you some super badass Derse-themed pajamas for your birthday years ago. You decided to throw them on before you came here, and you're not regretting it. Though you'd worn the PJ's in lovably over the years, the soft purple moon is still on the front, and the material still blends in with the shade of the buildings. You'll never cease to be amazed at Kanaya's abilities to match the perfect color.

Jake had a bit more trouble finding Derse clothing on such short notice. He had to settle for wearing one of your black wife-beater t-shirts and some black cargo pants. The combo actually doesn't look too bad on him, and you're a little sorry you can't take more time to appreciate it.

John decided to keep his traditional blue clothes and since he's like a bright blue beacon when he flies around, he grudgingly agreed to stay hidden when possible in a pocket of your shirt. You feel bad for the guy though and decide it wouldn't hurt to let him sit on your shoulder instead.

"You've been here before," you murmur, leaning closer to Jake than you really need to just because. "Any idea where to go from here?"

"My guess is the castle," he replies, squinting off into the distance. "I don't see it from here, but once we get moving, it will be impossible to miss."

With a nod at each other, you and Jake are silently off. Sneaking around Derse isn't as difficult as you had thought it might be. The inhabitants are relatively simple folk, and they don't notice your presence. You do get a bit on edge when you see people you've killed and sent back to Derse parading around. You're about to round a corner when you catch Vriska's spidery form in your peripheral view. Hastily you and Jake duck back into the alleyway you came from and wait for her to pass.

There's no sign of the agents. For all their notoriety, they certainly make themselves scarce to the public eye. It has you just a bit concerned. You know that they must be somewhere. Waiting. Watching.

As you slink around, slowly making your way to the giant purple castle in the distance, you remember something important.

Time passes differently on Derse. As one of the many dimensions of Hell, it has hellish properties. You don't know the exact ratio, but what may only be a day back home could be much longer for residents of Derse. It's how all the demons you fight regain their strength so "quickly." You wonder how old demons like Damara and Vriska actually are.

You wonder how much time has passed for Dave.

The thought has you tempted to flashstep ahead, but you don't want to risk getting careless. And Jake is kind of leading the way.

It isn't too long before the castle is upon you. Shadowy purple ramparts loom above the castle walls whose bricks are ridden with the same glowing neon purple as the rest of Derse. Though there are many residents of Derse entering and exiting the castle, you don't dare go in that way. You may blend in a little, but you're nowhere near resembling a true Dersite.

You slink around the side of the castle and scale the wall to the ramparts above. Jake appears to be a pro at scaling, and he actually beats you up to the top. There are a few short guards slowly patrolling above, but they don't seem to be paying much attention to anything at all. You decide that their interests must be fleeting with the amount of time they spend staring at the ground, the sky above, and in general spacing out at nothing.

It isn't hard to work your way past them. When you're finally in the castle proper, you make your way around, sticking to the walls, and hiding in the shadows of large suits of armor when Dersites come by. Jake seems somewhat familiar with the castle, and you let him again lead the way. It somehow all feels very cliché to you, but Jake appears to be nothing short of exhilarated. His green eyes are wide and alit with an enthusiastic energy that you find infectious. Yes, tonight you will save your little bro.

A few corridors later, you find yourself in the dungeons. Curiously you peer in through the tiny windows of the wooden cell doors. Miserable creatures are all slumped in the corners, hopeless and (in some cases) lifeless. You really hope you're not too late.

You pick up the speed and almost pass by his room after a quick glance. But his telltale pale hair draws you back. Your little bro is sitting slumped in the corner of the cell, looking very much like all the other prisoners. His shades have been knocked to the other side of the room, leaving his disturbingly blank crimson stare visible.

"Dave!"

You hear John's scream, but by the time you realize what he's about to do, you're too late to stop him. He's already flying through the tiny window cut into the door and into your starving incubus brother's awaiting arms, heedless of the fact that he's flying to his death.

John's too small. He's just too fucking small, and there's no way he can possibly give Dave enough energy to live and not get himself killed in the process. If he could change his size, that might be a different story, but John can't. He hasn't learned yet, and Dave probably won't even realize what he's doing until it's too late.

Dave really does seem delirious. His eyes are glazed over and frightfully red. Even more than usual. His arms are quivering from hunger as he holds them open, inviting John to embrace him. You know it will be an embrace of death. You're not sure how much time has passed for him, but you've never seen your little bro this bad before.

It only takes an instant for John to get there. All these thoughts fly through your brain at light speed, but even though you're a lock-picking and flash-stepping master (if you do say so yourself) you know that you'll never be fast enough to reach Dave in time.

But in that instant it takes John to fly across the room, something happens. Something so incredible and mind blowing that you can't react at first. Only your heart is able to do anything at all, swelling with both happiness and relief.

The tiny blue ball of light surrounding John grows. By the time he's in Dave's arms, he's no longer pixie sized anymore. He's regular human height. If he didn't have those bright blue pixie wings, you'd never know the difference.

It takes a few more seconds before John and your bro realize what's happened too. You see it the moment that it happens though. Dave actually pulls out of his delirium a bit in his surprise. Both their eyes are filled with disbelief, then overwhelming happiness. Their lips are together barely a second later.

You're happy for your little bro and his boyfriend. You really are. But you also have common sense on your side, something that neither of them seem to possess right now. You quickly pick the lock to Dave's cell and slip inside.

The look Dave gives you when you pull John away from him is murderous. You actually think he bares his fangs at you a bit, but you just shake your head ever so slightly at him. Gently, you remind him, "don't wanna kill your boyfriend with your first kiss, now do you?"

He growls at you, lowly and predatorily, and you're pretty sure John gasps a bit. The now-human-sized-fairy tugs against you a bit, desperate to get back into his boyfriend's arms, but you hold him firmly in your grasp. "Don't go to him, John. You've already given him enough to get going. He just needs to get his head back on straight."

Dave growls again and flash-steps away from the wall, catching John back in his arms. He possessively pulls John to him tightly, breathing into the collar of his blue hoodie. His voice is muffled a bit by the fabric when he responds, "I can _fucking_ control myself, Dirk. I just—I wanna hug my boyfriend."

"Dave," John murmurs softly, returning the embrace. It's only a couple seconds before their lips are together again.

It's cute, but you can sense what's happening here. Despite Dave's proud words, he is doing one lousy job of controlling himself right now. He's pulling John's energy to him at an alarming rate, and any moment now—

You catch the tiny blue fairy in your hands before he hits the ground. John's returned to his normal pixie size, and he's fast asleep in your palms. Carefully, you place him inside your shirt pocket, tisking at Dave, "I warned you, bro."

Dave is frozen in place, his hands grasping the empty air where his boyfriend was just standing. His eyebrows turn upward and a look of remorse fleetingly crosses his face. "Oh fuck. Fuck I couldn't—" his eyes turn to you imploringly, his hands reaching for your pocket. "Is he—?"

You flashstep away to the other side of the room, picking up Dave's shades while you're at it. "He's sleeping, but he's ok. You don't get to touch him until you're fully in control of yourself first," you admonish him quietly.

Dave nods, swallowing the bitter medicine that you've given him. He gratefully accepts the shades when you hand them back to him and places them back on his face. After he dusts off his clothes, he turns back to you, sounding once again like your cocky little bro. "So you have a plan or do I have to break us all outta here?"

Getting back out of the castle is easier than getting in. At least, it's a lot faster. Dave is less cautious about sneaking around, and when the guards catch sight of him, you all make a break for the exit. You're through the portcullis before they can even think of lowering it. All of you tear through the streets of Derse, heedless of the Dersite's open stares and occasional screeches of fury at you.

It gets a little seedy as Vriska finds you, attempting to trap you in her webs again. "Diiiiiiiirk Striiiiiiiider!" She screeches, knocking over two bystanding dersites as her mammoth spidery body turns the corner to follow you.

She may be huge, but she's gaining on you. Vriska screams, swiping at you, her claws shearing off a few strands of your hair.

Way too close for comfort.

"Jake! Rocketboard!" You shout, ducking as she reaches for you again.

It takes Jake less than a second to pull out your rocketboard. You all hop onboard, Jake and Dave clinging to you tightly as you ascend up into the sky. You zip easily over all the buildings and demons, avoiding their claws, tentacles and razor sharp teeth. In less than a minute, you're back to the alley where your portal to the volcano awaits.

You're through the portal and into the blazing heat of the volcano in record time. By the time you're back at Bro's lounge, you're all a little worse for wear.

Bro's already waiting outside, and he captures Dave in a tight hug, feeding him and murmuring something you can't hear.

Jake has been silent the whole rocketboard trip, not that you would have heard him anyway over the rushing wind. He finally nudges you in the arm and murmurs, "is that what Bro did for you?"

You nod and add, "Bro gives the best hugs."

Bro gives you a thumbs-up.

A minute or so later, he lets Dave go. Your little bro sheepishly comes back to you, holding his hands out expectantly. "Can I have him back now?"

"Show me your eyes," you demand.

He tips his shades down a couple inches for you, allowing you to see his clear, completely lucid crimson eyes. You breathe a sigh of relief. He's back in full control of himself now. Silently, you nod, gently removing a still slumbering John from your pocket and handing him over.

Dave accepts him carefully, his eyebrows again contorting with sorrow. "John, I'm so sorry," he murmurs. John doesn't respond, aside from sighing softly in his sleep and snuggling closer to Dave's thumb.

Bro sends you all home a few seconds later. He looks tired. You doubt that feeding Dave helped with his exhaustion, but when you offer to help him work, he waves you off. "You'll have plenty to do tomorrow, trust me. Get some sleep. Take Dave with you and keep an eye on him. And both of you," Bro pauses for just a moment, making sure that he has Dave's attention too. "Take care of each other. That goes without saying."

You fistbump on it. It's an unspoken promise.

And so it is that the four of you pile into your Jeep and head back to your place. At least, that's the way you thought it was going to go.

"Wait!" Jane cries, waving her arms as she runs through the doors of the bar hastily. "Dirk, can I stay with you tonight? I don't have a hotel room and at this hour—"

"Sure," you say, indicated with a flick of your head to the back seat. "Hop in."

Jake of course has to be a perfect gentleman. He quickly leaps out of your door-less Jeep, allowing Jane to ride in the front while he scoots into the back seat with Dave. You're really not sure why, but you have a bad feeling about this development. Jane's one of your dearest friends, and you've missed having time to chill with her. Having her visit for a few days shouldn't be so bad.

Yet, somehow, you can't shake the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong. You push the feelings away and drive off into the night.


	7. Hope for the Heartless

**Chapter 7: Hope for the Heartless**

* * *

**Dirk: Let Jake comfort you**

Let Jake what?

Everyone else went to bed hours ago. You let Jane have your room and gave your beloved futon to Dave. As a result, you've been sitting on the office chair in your own patented Dirk Strider man-cave. You've been tinkering idly with Brobot's arm and watching re-runs of The Office on the old tube TV in the corner of the room. Alone in the privacy of your shop, you heave a deep sigh and wish that your Bro's office could have the same problems. It'd be so sweet if the only things you had to worry about were looking good (cause Striders always look good) and dealing with random office bullshit.

But no, that's not the type of office your Bro runs. He runs the type that endangers you all every night. The type where Agents are after you.

If the Agents know where Dave lives, then there's a good chance that they know where you live too. All night, you've been hyperaware of every little noise in the place. You hear the raucous couple having sex in the apartment below and the people across the hall who always seem to be moving furniture around. You're not sure what the guy next to you does for a living, but for some reason he _really _seems to love elephants. Glancing at your shiny poster of Rainbow Dash on the wall, you shrug. Can't exactly judge.

Every time someone walks down the hallway you tense, because they _might_ be coming for you. So far, they haven't.

You're definitely aware that Jake has been pacing around his room the past hour. He's even come so far as to walk down the hallway towards your Strider-cave twice, but this is the first time he's finally decided to make his presence known.

Jake hesitantly opens the door, shutting it behind him. He only makes it a couple steps into the room before he's already cursing about stepping on something.

You can't help the tiny grin that tugs at your lips. "Sup, English? Why are you still awake?"

He picks his way over to you and takes a seat on a little wooden stool beside you. "I could ask you the same thing, Strider. Actually, I was going to but realized I was plumb being a daft again!"

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, and Jake continues, "You don't have anywhere to sleep, do you, mate? We've right commandeered all your beds!"

You shrug, noting the strange addition of the word "commandeered" to Jake's already eccentric vocabulary. Must have been watching Pirates of the Caribbean again. "Yeah, s'ok though. I've gone without sleeping before. Do it a lot, actually."

It's true. More often than you'd like, sleep doesn't seem to find you. This is far from the first night that you've spent tinkering on your robots, and you doubt it will be the last.

"That sounds truly awful," Jake comments, making a face. You hum noncommittally. Idly, he picks up a wrench from your worktable and turns it over in his hands. "Strider, I don't suppose there's anything bothering you?"

You glance over at him sidelong, your hands stilling on Brobot's arm temporarily. "Are you _pitying_ me, English?" you ask in an incredulous tone. You've unfortunately heard what Karkat has to say about pity, and while you'll never understand exactly what it means to him, you know that you don't want Jake English pitying you in any sense of the word.

Hastily, he holds his hands up and says, "No no! Certainly not old chum! I merely thought that you might be concerned about Agents. And I thought that perhaps— I could help out?"

"What are you getting at?" You ask slowly.

"I could take watch part of the night, so you could get some rest," he offers gently, resting the wrench and his hands on the workbench. The small smile Jake gives you as he says the next words makes your heart want to melt. "You don't have to do this alone."

Your hand is reaching for his before you know what you're doing. By the time you've realized it, your fingers are already resting on top of his, the warmth of his hand and of his essence tickling your senses. He's so _warm_ and _alive_ and you love that about him.

But you realize a second later that he's looking at your combined hands very strangely. You're not sure whether it's a look of amusement, horror, or something else. Quickly, you settle for awkwardly patting his hand before returning yours to Brobot's arm. "Thanks. But I have to do this. Bro's counting on me to keep Dave safe." After a moment's reflection, you add, "to keep everyone safe, actually. I can't sleep yet."

It takes Jake a couple moments to respond, but when he does, his words are music to your ears. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind a little company while you wait?"

Jake actually gets a smile out of you. No wait. A smirk. A cool and manly Strider smirk. "Yeah, that sounds pretty good."

Jake smiles in return, scooting closer to watch you work. For an hour or so, you listen to him chatter on about the movie you saw earlier tonight. Wow, was that really just earlier tonight? Yes. Yes it was.

The sun begins to crest over the horizon, and you know that you'll have a while to wait before the others are up. If you listen carefully, you can tell from Jane's even breathing that she's fast asleep. Dave is silent as the grave, and even John's tiny breaths are rhythmically longer than usual. They're all fast asleep.

Jake seems aware of this too, and he clears his throat in a way that immediately draws your attention. He has something to say. Something that's probably a little more important than his usual ramble. "Strider, I hope you don't mind, but I have a question for you."

"Go ahead," you say, wondering what he could be bringing up at this hour. Knowing Jake, anything from a question about your favorite TV show (which he should know by now) to a question of whether you'll accept his undying love (which is all too good to be true) is fair game.

"AR, that— _program_ of your younger self that you have me talk to sometimes. You know the one I'm talking about, right?" Jake starts, his voice faltering just a bit.

You're instantly suspicious of what AR's said to him. If AR's comments to you earlier in the evening are any indication, you're about to be absolutely mortified. "Yeah," you answer slowly.

Jake clears his throat again, and you _know_ something is amiss. "He's a right interesting bloke, all right. We've had some very riveting conversations about ponies and mechanics and the 'so called meaning of life' as he puts it. It's truly remarkable that you programmed him, Strider! He's so lifelike and real that I would swear he's actually his own person."

"He is," you declare quickly.

"Yeeeees," Jake hesitantly agrees, drawing out the word. He chews his bottom lip in a goddamned adorable way that almost distracts you enough from realizing that he's still talking. "But the similarities between the two of you are far too many to ignore! He likes My Little Pony, you like My Little Pony—"

"You like My Little Pony," you murmur, pointing at Jake.

"I _do _like My Little Pony, but that's not my point! If you would just wait one gosh darned moment, perhaps I could find the right blooming words!" Jake sighs, exasperated. You decide to take pity on him and wait to see what he will say. Jake gives you a _look_, waiting to see if you'll dare interrupt him again. When you don't, he finally continues. "Like it or not, Strider, this AR fellow is still you. He can be a confoundedly obnoxious tin can at times, but he's still you."

Jake pauses longer than usual, and you're suddenly getting a _really_ bad feeling about all of this. You cautiously ask, "So, are you saying that two Striders are too much? You don't have to talk to him if you don't want to. I'll tell him to stop bugging you."

"That is the exact _opposite _of the issue!" Jake says, and he truly does look flustered. Something about what he wants to say has him extremely worked-up. His cheeks are flushed in an aggravated and possibly embarrassed way, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he thinks of what to say next. Finally, he looks up at you and says, "I don't know to say it but, in short, he's said some things to me that—that I simply don't have the words to describe. And if he's truly another version of you, I have to wonder—"

You're officially mortified. You knew you should have decommissioned AR long ago. Why the hell are you building a body for him?

Such an idiot. That's you.

"—do you fancy me?" Jake asks quietly.

Ah, a Jakeism at its best.

Wait.

Did he just ask—?

Oh _fuck_ he did.

Jake's still staring at you expectantly, his eyebrows turning up ever so slightly at your silence. Oh shit you're worrying him. But what should you say? What _can_ you say?

You're silent for a while. Sure, you could lie to him. You could swear up and down that you don't feel a thing for him, and he'd probably believe you. Jake is so trusting. So honest, and good-natured, and full of _hope, _and _damn it all _if he isn't too good for you.

Through the years people have called you a heartless bastard. You won't deny it, you are. You're a cold-blooded killer. You've even killed your friends. Worse, you're an incubus. You're a demon in every sense of the word. You shamelessly use people, take their energy, and steal their memories when you leave them. You don't even giving them the fucking decency to remember you exist.

Do you deserve Jake? Hell no. He's too sweet, too kind, too soft— and you're far too cold. Too callous. Someone like you could tear him apart and rip him to pieces so easily, without even meaning to. He could fall for an eternity into the depths of your empty heart and never hit the bottom.

You don't want to hurt Jake. But you also don't want to lie to him.

Slowly, you place the robot arm on the workbench and turn to meet his gaze. You know that everyone else is asleep, but you can't help the quiet tone of your voice when you finally respond, "yeah. Yeah I do."

"Oh," he murmurs back. He's silent then, for a good long time. Forever, it seems. And you have to wonder just what you've brought upon yourself. You hate AR right now and you swear that if this goes as poorly as you think it will, you're going to wipe all your hard drives clean of his program, even if he does have a heart. You are going to smash AR into tiny microscopic bits. You're going to scramble his programming until it's impossible to ever put it back together again.

You can only rage at your computerized self for so long.

Isn't Jake supposed to say something? You don't think you can wait much longer.

No, that's not true. You'll wait a lifetime for Jake English if you have to.

—wow. You don't know when that became true, but somehow it has. Are you, the impossibly cool and sexy Dirk Strider, really this head over heels for Jake McBumpkin English?

Yes. Yes you really are. Outside, your practiced Strider mask is in place, but inside you're trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Finally, Jake opens his mouth. First, a long sigh comes out. His eyebrows are furrowed, and –_damn it– _there's a _pitying_ expression in his eyes as he asks, "do you feel that way because you're—what you are?"

He can't even say the word "incubus" without stammering? If you weren't so nerve-wrecked yourself you'd find that adorable. Quickly, you shake your head and respond, "no. That has nothing to do with it. I _fancy_ you, Jake English, just for being who you are. I already told you, I won't do anything unless you want it."

"But you wouldn't mind?" he asks. You're really not sure what he meant by that, but you guess it has to do with sex.

"No, I wouldn't mind," you respond again, wondering just how much more of this drawn out awkwardness you can take. You take a deep breath, at least, a breath that's longer than usual, and decide what the hell. It's now or never, right? Better lay it all out for him so that he can properly make up his mind. "But if that's something you never want, I'll respect that. If you don't feel the same way, I'll respect that too, and we can go on just like before. I mean it Jake, you're my best bud—pretty much another bro now. Whatever happens—"

Jake shushes you with a light pat on the shoulder, a short breath escaping those parted lips. Then, a shy smile curves on his lips as he tentatively reaches for your hand. His smile only widens as you thread your fingers through his, clasping your hands together. He looks up at you and says the words you've been waiting forever to hear. "Then let's give it a go, shall we?"

Ok, those aren't exactly the words you were expecting to hear. But you'll take them.

You swallow away the awkward lump in your throat and give him a small, hesitant smile. Quietly, almost inaudibly, you breathe, "yeah. Let's do that."

You almost can't believe it. After decades of being alone, you finally have a _boyfriend_.

* * *

**Dirk: Have dirty monkey sex with Jake!**

Yeah, cause that wouldn't scare him away at all. No, much as you'd like that, you'll wait until he's ready.

…you really hope that's soon.

For now, you spend the remainder of the morning pretty much the same way you spent the rest of it. Listening to Jake ramble on about movies while you work on Brobot's arm. You've decided not to decommission AR after all. That really went a lot better than it had any right to.

You want to hug Jake, to hold him and kiss him and do exactly what's written up above in bold with him. But you can't do that just yet. You haven't even _kissed_ him yet. And holy hell if it isn't the most infuriating thing ever. You held hands for a while, enjoying the fuzzy warm feelings wicking off Jake before he realized you couldn't work on your robotics without both hands. All too quickly, he gave your hand back to you, and that was it. You haven't touched him since.

But really, the way Jake leans over onto the bench, his enthused eyes fixed on you and his pert butt swiveling back and forth on the seat of that wooden stool, makes it hard to concentrate on anything. You'd put down Brobot's arm, because seriously, you're not getting anything done with Jake around, but you don't want to give up the pretense that you're actually working on something. You like that Jake's staring intently at the machinery while you work, occasionally chewing on his lower lip in thought as he tries to figure out exactly what it is you're doing.

You adore him, and you don't ever want this moment to stop.

But before you know it, Jake is checking his watch and exclaiming, "oh my! I'd best get started on breakfast! The others will be up in no time!"

And then he's gone. Off to make breakfast and leaving you alone in your workshop.

Kissless. Sexless. Jakeless.

Sigh.

You do manage to get a little work done now that Jake's fantastic rump isn't distracting you anymore. You don't let your guard down, though. And even though you don't sense any sign of the Agents around your place, you do sense when Jane wakes up and paces into the kitchen to help Jake with the cooking.

You'll never say a bad thing about Jake's cooking. Even if it sucked, you love the guy too much to break his little heart. But Jane's cooking is in a class of its own. You know that whenever she offers to bake, nothing short of spectacular will do.

It isn't until a frying pan seems to hit the stove extra hard that you finally tune into whatever they'd been saying. Your hands still as you focus on their words, picking up any little change in tone or inflection.

"You're not mad, are you Jane?" Jake asks, his voice tentative and hesitant.

"Mad? Who me? No! Certainly not!" Jane exclaims, a little overeagerly. "If you want to pursue that course of action then you should do it! Absolutely!"

The sound of the oven door being slammed just a little harder than usual echoes to your workshop. Jane is clearly not having it. Whatever it is.

"Oh good, you know Jane I was so worried that you wouldn't understand and would be upset," Jake's voice sounds relieved.

"That's me! The _queen_ of understanding and not being upset! Yep!" Jane exclaims, laughing loudly. "You should totally go in there right now and make out with Dirk and have lots and LOTS of babies!"

Oh, so _that's _the problem. You should have realized that you might have competition for Jake's affections, but technically _he's _the one that asked _you_, isn't he? You feel bad, but you can't exactly go apologize to Jane for something that you didn't do. Not that you'd want to anyway. If you had to live without Jake, you suppose you would. You did for quite some time before he was even in the picture, but you wouldn't enjoy it.

"Oh, come off it, you know that's not possible!" Jake laughs a little, a genuine light laugh that makes your heart flutter. You really hope he was talking about the babies being impossible and not the making out. Jake's voice grows a little quieter as he says, "Jane, thank you for being so understanding. I know things didn't work out between us, but I knew that you would be rational and forgiving. It's one of the things I love about you."

They were an item? The pieces suddenly fall into place. The reason they were so casual with each other yesterday, how they know each other. Jake and his goddamn suggestively waggling eyebrows.

But whatever happened in the past, it's apparently over now. You're not sure why things didn't work out between them. Perhaps you'll find out someday. But, like everything else about Jake, you'll wait until he's ready to tell you.

You'd say that you're an expert on the sound of smooches by now. And the short smooch you hear next is definitely one on the cheek.

Jane's voice is a little quieter, with less enthusiasm, as she responds, "y-yeah. Of course, Jake."

The sounds of baking again reclaim the apartment. They do talk some more, but it's nothing heavy like before.

What are Jane's plans while she's here? Cleaning up Bro's mess.

How much longer is Jane in town? Until the mess is cleaned.

You decide you don't care about their conversation anymore. Instead, you immerse yourself back in your work. It isn't long before Jake is at your door, his award winning grin in place as he says, "ready for some breakfast, Strider?"

His smile. Your _boyfriend's_ smile. Damn, it's been way too long since you've been able to say that. The warm fuzzy thought hits you, and you're ashamed to say it goes straight south. You can't help it. You're an incubus, and you _want _him. But you'll wait.

Instead, you arch an eyebrow at him. "That sounded like a pretty heavy conversation you were having."

"What? Oh heavens, you heard that?" Jake stammers, a light flush rising to his cheeks. "Well, I suppose I owe you an explanation, then."

"Think I got the gist of it," you say, knowing that Jane must be listening to every word of your conversation like you were listening to theirs. Setting down your work, you wordlessly follow Jake into the kitchen.

As usual, Jane has proven herself to be a culinary master. Stacks of pancakes and waffles pile on the table into next week. Blueberry muffins, scrambled eggs, bacon, and hashed browns garnish every plate around the table. You take a moment to appreciate the freshly squeezed orange juice and wonder where the oranges came from. In the center of the table is a large homemade coffee strudel, filled with fruit and decorated with sweet cheese crumbles on top.

You can't believe all that came out of your kitchen. "You've outdone yourself, Jane," you tell her.

Jane had been avoiding eye-contact with you at first, but she can't resist a compliment to her baking. She finally flashes you a small smile and says, "thank you. Better eat it before it gets cold!"

The three of you dig in, and it does taste just as good as it looks. Jane Crocker is a baking genius. You let her know. She reveals that she's more than willing to teach you a thing or two. You politely decline.

A few minutes or so into breakfast, you realize that your younger bro is definitely awake on your futon and just not moving. He's probably been awake since Jake and Jane's little baking war started. "Dave, get your skinny butt over here," you call to him. "Bro'll have my neck if you lose any more weight."

"I'm not hungry," Dave retorts angstfully. You know he's lying.

"You'll insult Jane if you don't eat her food," you say with a note of warning in your voice. A warning that you'll kick his sorry ass if he insults your friend.

Dave sighs and slowly drags his feet over to the table. When he slumps into the seat beside you, you realize why he is so moody this morning.

"He's still sleeping, huh?" you ask, eyeing the peacefully resting fairy in Dave's hands.

"Yeah," he responds, and you swear you see his eyes tear up a bit behind his sunglasses. "I'm so fucking worried about him! What if he never wakes up? It'll all be my fault!"

"Yeah, it will," you agree. "But for what it's worth, I've seen people come out of worse."

Dave flicks his gaze up at you, with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Really?"

"Really. But you don't need to take my word on it. We have the life expert sitting at the table," you say, inclining your head slightly toward Jane.

Jane had been wallowing silently in her own thoughts through the beginning of breakfast, as you all had been, but she suddenly perks up at her name. "Hmm?"

Usually Dave tries to play it cool, but it's amazing how fast he drops his cool-kid persona for John. You know that the others have to pick up the worry in his tone when he abruptly asks her, "can you tell me if he's gonna be ok? He's not gonna die is he?"

Jane seems caught off-guard at first, but she regains her calm quickly and levels an even and sympathetic gaze at Dave. Gently holding out her hands, she says, "let's have a look at him, shall we?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Dave lowers John's sleeping form into her hands. John frowns at the change of hands and turns over, mumbling something lightly. Dave presses his lips together into a fine line, the tight concern overflowing into his words as he quickly prompts, "well?"

Jane immediately smiles and shakes her head. "He's going to be just fine. Little guy's just plumb tuckered out!"

In his sleep, John snorts lightly and murmurs, "not little…"

The relief that washes over your little bro is palpable. His sigh is deep and thankful as he gratefully takes John back into his hands.

"Thanks Jane," you murmur, knowing that she's given Dave immense peace of mind.

"Anytime, really. Glad to be of help!" she says cheerfully. This time you know that the smile on her face is genuine.

* * *

**Dirk: Go to work**

It's strange seeing the place so empty. It hasn't been this quiet since Bro first started the business. You don't exactly blame people for not wanting to come after what happened last night. If they didn't have to be here, you doubt that all your Bro's employees would even have shown up.

The bar is quiet. Latula's laying with her back across the bar top, her fashionable red-tinted glasses hang loosely off her head as she faces the door upside-down. She whistles as you all walk in. "Oh yeaaah! Sexy Striders come to play with this hot mama? Please say yes. I'm sooooo bored!"

Jane boops Latula's nose with an index finger, making the other girl squint. "Not on my watch! These boys have a lot of work to do tonight."

"Not here, they don't. Look around, the only patron's Cronus, and I'm pretty sure Bro sliced him into ribbons last night. Not getting any new info from him. I'm not sure what keeps him coming back here," she says, idly waving in the direction of the other end of the bar, where Kankri is pouring gin into a glass of Diet Dr. Pepper for their single patron. Latula frowns and shakes her head. "it's totally not Kankri's bartending skills. Seriously, how does he drink that swill every night?"

"Got me," you murmur, but deep down you think you know the truth. You think it's painfully obvious to everyone. People do the strangest things for love.

With that thought on the mind, you glance back to where your bro is still cradling John's sleeping form. He even bundled the little guy up in one of your orange hand towels keep him warm. It's cute to the point of nausea.

You pass by Kankri, who nods your way but doesn't stop his long rambling lecture on safety and efficacy in the workplace. Cronus takes a sip of his drink, makes a slightly disgusted expression, and forces an affirmative hum.

Kanaya is sitting at one of the high top tables, looking quite well again. As well as a vampire can look, you suppose. She rests her elbow on the table and her head in her hand. She's idly scrolling through something on her cell phone, but her eyes light up when you walk by. "Am I correct in hearing that you wore the pajamas I made you last night?"

"Yep," you agree. "Super comfy. The purple hue still matches Derse."

A tiny smile graces her dark lips. "Oh good. I was a little concerned that it might fade into a deep lilac with the passing of time."

"Any word from Rose?" Dave asks, leaning in to look at her phone. He immediately reels back a step. "Geez Kanaya! Seriously, _at work?_ You're gonna blind me."

She quirks an eyebrow at him and gives him a moderately toothy grin. "You did not have to look. And Dave, you spoke with Rose merely yesterday."

"I did?" he seems bewildered for a moment, then quickly pulls out of it. "Yeah, guess it's only been a day for you guys."

"How long were you trapped in Derse?" Jane asks, eyeing him sympathetically.

"9 days," Dave responds quickly. "Not that I was keeping track or anything. Nope. Definitely not me."

Ouch. You didn't realize it had been that long for your little bro. "Sorry dude. Came as fast as I could," you find yourself mumbling, wondering if there was a way you could have made it there even quicker.

"I know. It's cool," Dave says, waving it off.

You decide not to dwell on it too long. Instead, you move along to the back lounge area where Terezi is shooting a lonely game of pool by herself. If you hadn't seen her sliced in half yesterday, you'd never have known she was ever hurt. Jane works amazing miracles.

Seeing Dave, Terezi perks up. "Cool kid! You're not dead! Come play some pool with me. Bet I can beat you with my eyes closed!"

You don't doubt that it's true. Terezi's blind, but she seems to have an uncanny ability to tell exactly where things are. As Jake realized the hard way, her pool skills are rivaled by very few.

"Sorry Rezi, my hands are full," Dave shrugs at her.

She opens her mouth widely, showing off all her sharp teeth, then closes it, sniffing in Dave's direction. "You do have you hands full. Full of John. He smells different. What did you do to him? Did you finally pop his deliciously red cherry?"

You can sense Dave's eyeroll. "No. Don't get me started."

You almost make it to your Bro's office, but Karkat leaps out of the doorway to his office, blocking the hallway. You sigh. "What do you want?"

"I want you to listen to me for one Goddamned minute!" He shouts in a somehow more quiet than usual way.

"Of course you do," you sigh. "What's going on, Vantas?"

"So you remember that rescue mission yesterday? Yeah of course you'd be a bigger idiot than I thought if you forgot that. Well turns out, someone noticed your presence in Derse. You got a couple tailgaters."

"A couple?"

"The Nitrams. Party criminals," Bro explains, appearing suddenly behind Karkat and making the shorter troll jump.

"Party dudes? Who cares about them?" Dave asks, his apathy for the night's fight palpable in the air.

Bro takes one look at a still far too skinny Dave holding the sleeping bundled up John and says. "Not you. You're staying put right here tonight. There's Loch Ness Monster blood in the fridge with your name on it. When you finish that, you can play pool with Terezi."

"Yay!" Terezi whoops from the other room.

Dave is clearly disgusted, but before he can get a word out, Bro gives him a _look_. And even though he's wearing his shades, everyone knows exactly what that means. Dave heaves a sigh and slowly shuffles back to Bro's office, grumbling the whole way.

Bro then turns to you. "Since they're out of the game, that means it's your job to bring in the Nitrams."

"Bring them in?" you ask, arching an eyebrow in question. "Don't people literally _die_ from partying with them for weeks without sleeping?"

"Yeah, but Rufioh and Tavros aren't actually bad. You know that. They just need to know that maybe that's kosher in Derse, but that shit ain't flying around here," Bro explains. "Besides, if there's one thing they do know, it's how to get a party started. That's something we could use around here right about now."

You don't disagree.

* * *

**Dirk: Party!**

That is EXACTLY what's happening in the giant second floor flat in the old warehouse district. You see multicolored strobelights flashing from behind the glass window panes and can feel the bass pumping halfway down the street. You listen. Pretty sick beats. Not as sick as yours, but you dig it.

"Oh good heavens, am I dressed appropriately for a party?" Jake suddenly asks, catching you by surprise. He's dressed in his usual khaki shorts and an open green button down shirt. Today the t-shirt he is sporting underneath is the My Little Pony shirt he bought to match yours. Pinkie Pie. Fitting, you think.

You throw him a smirk, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "If you want, we can have our own party and invite your pants to come down."

Jake flushes furiously and stammers, "N-now see here, Strider! Don't you think that's a bit uncouth?"

You don't. Admittedly, the pick-up line is a lame one you found online somewhere, but the look Jake gives you is completely worth it.

It's worth Jane's attention-grabbing throat-clearing too. Now that everyone is alive and well again, there's surprisingly little for Jane to do back at the office. So, she's come along with you too. She's still wearing her jean skirt, but she's thrown on a red batter-witch inspired shirt with flaring short sleeves and an interesting neck line that mimics the forks of the witch's spear. On anyone else you'd think it was tacky, but Jane wears it well. "Guys, enough flirting. Don't we have a job to do?"

Hmm. That's the second person to admonish you for that in two days now. Maybe you should tone it down a bit?

One glance at Jake's vivid green eyes, the dusting of a flush on his cheeks, and shy little grin that shows off his front teeth, and you know that you'll never stop.

Boyfriend_._ You haven't kissed him yet. You've barely held hands, but he's your _boyfriend!_ The thought leaves you giddier than you're willing to admit to anybody, much less to yourself.

But Jane is right. You do have work to do. And so, dutifully, you walk up the metal staircase and ascend to the party above.

The room is one giant dance rave. More bodies than you can count full of people jumping, drinking, dancing, shouting, laughing, and even sexing—it's enough to get the incubus in you very _very_ distracted. For a moment, you just stand there, taking it all in. You haven't felt this jazzed in a while, high off the energy in the room. You love it.

You see why the Nitrams don't ever want the party to stop.

It pulls at you, and you want nothing more than to jump in and feed off all the delicious energy around you. It's intoxicating, addicting, and you remind yourself that you've fallen victim to the Nitram's party fever before. When you were younger, Bro had to drag you away from Rufio's parties kicking and screaming on more than one occasion. You were such a little shit.

You remind yourself and you won't let yourself get pulled in.

You move into the crowd, but you won't fall victim to the staccato peaks of energy striking you from every direction and all the bodies dancing and writhing around you and pulling you into their warmth of arms and laughter and the pumping bass beats that you can't help but move in time to and the people screaming in delight all around you and—

-ider

—and the soft warmth of their skin all around you, assaulting you, making your head spin with giddy energy and you haven't felt this _warm_ and this _alive_ in so long—

"Strider!" Jake's grabbing you by the shoulders, and the look of concern in his eyes would be absolutely adorable if it wasn't aimed at you. You don't ever want him to look like that. You want him to smile and laugh and feel just as happy as you do right now.

So you kiss him.

There's nothing special to it. No build up. You just lean in and do it.

Jake stiffens, his lips slightly parted in surprise as you capture first his top then bottom lip between yours, sucking gently before pulling back. You want him. You want him so badly right now and you're not sure why _now_ and not another time, but you can't stop. You're already pulling down your shades just a bit, catching his bright green gaze within yours.

_**You're mine.**_

He takes a sharp, stifled breath, and his body swoons into your awaiting arms, reacting to your not so gentle mental nudge. You pull him close to you, feeling the outline of his body next to yours, the bulky muscles of someone who's had his share of physical activity and the brightest viridian energy you've ever tasted. You kiss him again, and this time, his lips form to yours slowly but eagerly.

You think Jake wants this. He agreed to be your boyfriend, right? So you think this is something he would want to do, but you know he couldn't fight back even if he wanted to. It's a trick Bro taught you long ago. He won't even remember this if you don't want him to, but you do. You do want him to remember your feather light touches at the nape of his neck, your warm lips on his pulling his energy ever so slightly, just enough to get a taste, your fingers curling into his hair, yanking and bringing him to you—

"What are you doing?!"

Suddenly, Jake's being ripped away from you, and you scowl at the thing that dared come in between the two of you.

"Dirk? What—why are you looking at me like that?" The offending creature asks.

You growl at it, reaching behind you for the hilt of your katana. Your nemesis gasps and looks positively _frightened_. Good. It should know better than to get between you and your beloved.

"Get ahold of yourself!" It screams at you again, not that it will do any good. You're ready to draw your blade and soon—

"DIRK!" It hits you with its open palm, striking you with a terrible feeling that you can only describe as _**life**_, and you reel to the side, your hands finding the cement floor. For just a second, you swear that you feel your heart beat, a horrible loud thump that echoes in the hollow walls of your chest. Everything pulses, your vision shifts, and a burning tingling sensation runs to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Suddenly everything is on fire. Your hands, your head, your chest, your feet, everything. Flames flames. Horrible flames.

An instant later, before you can even think about screaming, it's over. Your heart is still in your chest once again. The pain fades away and the world sharpens a bit around you. You see your hands clearly, keeping you off the floor littered with gum wrappers, crumbs, dirt, and mysterious liquids you'd rather not identify.

You pick yourself off the cement and finally see Jane standing in front of you, her hand glowing with divine energy, raised and ready to strike again. You cringe at the brightness and slide your shades firmly back into place. "Jane?"

She lets out a deep breath, visibly relieved, and lowers her hand. Rapidly, she exhales, "OhThankGod. I thought I was going to have to smack you again."

"Did you hit me with _life_ magic?" you ask, feeling the destructive sting still on your cheek.

"Yeah," she admits, looking both flustered and upset. "I didn't have a choice, Dirk. You looked like you were going to eat me. And Jake."

Suddenly, you remember what you did to Jake and glance over at him quickly. His body slouches limply, his eyes are a little droopy, and he still seems really out of it. You wince. It's your fault he's like this. You haven't been dating a day and already you've hit him with some of the strongest suggestion you possess.

Worst boyfriend. That's you.

"Hey, English, get it together man," you say softly, too quietly to be heard in this place, and reach out for him. Ever so gently, you tip his chin up and lower your shades a bit, looking into his hazy green eyes.

_**Yours. Be you, Jake.**_

The suggestion hits him instantly. He snaps to alertness, looking at you with a strange mix of bewilderment and shock. "—Strider?" he asks, gazing at you with impossibly large emerald eyes.

You didn't take his memory from him. You're starting to wish you had.

There's so much you want to say to him, to explain to him, but you'll have to talk to him about it later. This partying crowd is giving you a delightfully heady feeling, and you don't dare lose your focus again. Jane might not be so forgiving next time.

So instead, you offer him a simple, apologetic rub on the shoulder, and get back to your job. Searching around the room, it's easy to find the Nitrams. Their outrageously spiked hair stands out in the crowd. Rufioh hasn't bothered to put away his large multicolored wings, and they beat in time to the music while Tavros headbangs ridiculously beside him. Tavros seems to have learned to use his mechanical legs quite well, and he even busts out a breakdancing move or two, drawing applause from the crowds around them.

You think that you remember Bro saying that the Nitrams are distant descendents from satyrs, but you're really not sure how that works at all. You suppose that their horns are the only part that really carried over. Rather than being obsessed with sex, which you and your bros definitely have covered, the Nitrams are obsessed with a good party. Judging from the wild crowd, they definitely know how to throw it down.

To stay that the Nitrams stick out would be an understatement. Rufioh and Tavros draw and command the attention of others without even trying. But, even though they look so obviously otherworldly, nobody ever notices. It's part of their ability. Not only can the Nitrams get a party started like no other, but they are adept at making people turn a blind eye to their differences.

Rufioh could fly around the park in the middle of the city on a bright sunny day and nobody would ever question it. You're pretty sure you've seen him do it before.

"Heeeeey! Strider!" Rufioh drawls, offering you a fist bump when you get to him. "That shit you pulled yesterday was so dope!"

You and Rufioh go way back. Not as far back as Rufioh and Bro, but you still remember him being around when you grew up. He fed you, and not in the same way Bro fed you. Rufioh was an excellent "sensei," as Bro put it. He's the one that made sure you knew what you were doing with other guys. Bro enlisted his help to teach you the ins and outs of how to be a good incubus.

Despite what you did together, it was always strangely platonic. Rufioh was a good friend and a very considerate lover. You did call him your boyfriend for a while, but you never felt the same pull toward him that you feel with Jake. Though it was never anything serious, you'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed when Rufioh decided to go back to Derse.

"Yeah, couldn't let my little bro rot away in prison," you explain. "Can't let you keep doing this either. You remember that people need to sleep, right?"

Rufioh snaps his fingers, closing his eyes and exhaling like he just took a hit off a blunt, and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Ooooh, yeah that's _right_. Human beings. Dirk, your memory is the shit!"

You shrug. "Lived with them for decades now."

Tavros finally perks up and stutters, "does uhh—does that mean we have to go back to uhh—to Derse?"

"Negative," you say with a small shake of your head. "Bro wants you to get a party started at his place."

Rufioh instantly brightens. "Why didn't you _say so sooner?_" He grins lazily and widely. "This shit is gonna be so dope!"

"Gotta cut the power here first," you remind him.

Rufioh winks and points to you, "you got it."

Instantly, the lights turn off, the music stops, and all the raving people fall to the floor asleep. Quickly you survey the scene and nod. They'll all be fine, but you don't envy the hangovers they'll have in the morning.

* * *

**Dirk: Ignore Jake's accusing stares**

Oh you do. The entire ride back, Rufioh and Tavros gab on in the back seat of your Jeep about how much things have changed here. About how dope this place is and how lame Derse has become. Jake lets Jane sit in the front again, so he's sandwiched between the Nitrams, politely listening to them. He doesn't say a word, but the hurt little glances you catch from the rear-view mirror speak volumes.

When you get back to Bro's lounge, you pull up long enough for the Nitrams to get out. You hear Rufioh drawl in his chill way, "Broooo!" and you watch them fistbump. It only takes one questionable glance from Bro for you to peel away back down the street.

* * *

**Dirk: Take a legendary infinite shower**

Your home isn't far away, and as soon as you're back, you immediately hop into the shower. Nevermind that you already took one tonight.

You're not sure how long you're in there. You kind of don't want to think about the passage of time or anything at all right now. You can't believe what you did to Jake, and you wonder if he'll ever forgive you.

Sometime later, you hear the bathroom door quietly open and close.

"Dirk?"

It's Jane's voice.

"Dirk?" she tries again.

"Yeah?" you offer.

"You want to talk?" she asks.

"Not really," you mumble, shampooing your hair for probably the fifth time.

"Too bad." You were afraid she was going to say that. Jane sighs and it sounds like she's sitting down on the closed cover of the toilet seat. "Jake's asleep already, so he won't hear what we say. Look, I know you're not proud of tonight. I'm not either. I'm… sorry I hit you with that life spell."

You don't say anything. Instead, you take your time rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. After a few seconds, Jane must take it as her cue to continue.

"I knew how dangerous that could have been for you, but I did it anyway. For what it's worth, I'm glad the only thing it did was bruise your cheek a bit," she says slowly, uneasily.

It did? You didn't even notice. You touch your cheek, noting that the tingly holy charge is still there. Again, you don't say anything, and she continues.

"Dirk, it could have killed you! I know you're technically already dead, but that could have been it! And I did it all because I saw you kissing Jake," she hesitates for a few moments. You think you know where she's going with this conversation, and you aren't going to stop her. "I was really jealous. But that's not an excuse to do what I did."

"No, you were in the right," you finally sigh back. "I wasn't myself. I really could have hurt you both. You did what had to be done."

The following silence is so long that you wonder if she managed to sneak out of the bathroom without you realizing it. Eventually, a small sigh reaches your ears, and you know she's still around.

"Take care of him," Jane finally murmurs. "Jake's hurting right now. He has been for a long time."

He has?

She continues before you can speak, "talk to him about it, and figure it out together. I know you can."

You turn off the shower, your fingers stilling on the shower lever. The light sound of water droplets dripping off your body and spattering onto the floor fill the air, almost loud enough to mask your softly voiced question. "What do you mean 'he's hurting'?" you ask quietly.

She shakes her head so hard that you hear the sound of her rustling hair. "That's not my story to tell. You'll have to ask him."

"What—?"

"Look, I've already said too much," she sighs, and you would bet anything that she's been crying. "I'm done talking about all this. I always knew that there wasn't a place for Jake in my life, and that I couldn't fix his problems. But maybe you can. I really hope you can."

"Jane—"

"I don't want to lose him like Roxy," she murmurs quietly, almost too softly to be heard over the running water.

But you do hear her, and instantly you're accosted with memories of Roxy's death. You're tempted to crawl into that dark part of your brain and escape into a wonderland filled with mathematics and completely devoid of problems. But you can't. You owe it to Jane to stay here with her.

You realize that you've never really talked to Jane about it all since it happened.

You haven't talked to Jane.

Suddenly, you realize what a selfish idiot you've been by avoiding her all these months. You buried the pain of Roxy's death inside you and shut out everything that reminded you of her. You shut out Jane. And you never once thought about how she must have felt about that.

Jane's been just as alone as you. Possibly more. Jane never talked about it, but you know that she was closer to Roxy than a sister.

Slowly, you slide down the side tiles of the shower until you're sitting on the ground, letting the last couple droplets of water fall on top of you. "There wasn't anything you could do about it," you finally murmur back.

"Yes there was!" Jane insists. "I was supposed to visit that weekend, and if I hadn't been stupid and taken that assignment on the other side of the fucking world, then I could have been there! I could have been in time—"

"You're blaming yourself," you interject. "Don't do that. If anyone's to blame, it's me. I was there with her when it happened. I should have been able to stop it."

Jane is silent for a while. Once again, you wonder if she somehow snuck out on you. Finally, you hear her voice, quiet and hesitant as she says, "Dirk…?"

You clench your teeth, instinctively bracing yourself. Here it comes. Here it fucking comes.

Jane's voice is quiet, and it cracks when she asks, "what happened that night?"

You do not want to get into this. Not now. Not ever. You don't ever want to relive what happened that night. Had anyone else asked, you'd have brushed them off like it was nothing. Had Jane asked just yesterday, you would have done the same.

But something's changed now. There's something so very vulnerable in her voice, so out of place with everything that you associate with _Jane Crocker_. And you suddenly realize a terrible truth. You've deeply wronged one of your best friends twice now.

Twice, you've taken away Jane's love.

Such a selfish bastard. That's you.

Slowly, you slide the shower door open just enough to grab the towel off the bar attached to the shower door. After just a cursory 2 second dry-off, you throw the towel on top of your sensitive bits (not because you give a damn what Jane sees, but because you know it would make her uncomfortable.)

You know that you look like a hot mess right now, and for once in Strider history, you really don't care. Your hair is in your eyes, and you feel several strands in the back sticking up awkwardly from the short toweling. No shades, no ironic clothes. You're just you. Plain and simple you, with nothing to hide what a godawful demon you are.

Hesitantly, you slide open the door the rest of the way.

Sitting unceremoniously on the closed toilet seat, her eyes reddened and puffy from crying, is one Jane Crocker. She's changed into light blue PJs sometime during the couple hours you've been in here, and in her hand is a wad of tissues that you suspect has been recently used. Sure enough, she rubs her nose with it and sniffles loudly before managing to say, "you look different without the sunglasses."

You realize that this is the first time Jane's seen you without your shades. Like Jake, she doesn't seem overly shocked by your eye color. Damn. And here you'd thought your orange eyes were pretty cool.

"Yeah," you agree. You hesitate for just a second longer before offering, "if you really want to know about that night, I'll tell you."

Jane seriously seems to think it over for a while. She stares quite intently at your sink, and you know it's not that interesting. Finally, she returns her light blue eyes to you and puts on a firm and determined face. "Yes, I think I would like to know."

You sigh out a long breath and then swallow. "Ok."

So you tell her. You tell Jane about how you were up against something you couldn't beat. About how you were dying. About how Roxy single-handedly saved the world and then saved you.

About how she gave her life to do both.

By the end of your story, Jane's in tears again.

"Her death was both heroic and just," you finish, swallowing away a lump that had formed in your throat. "And then she was gone. Before I could even call you, see if you could get here fast enough, she was gone."

"What do you mean she was gone?" Jane asks, furrowing her brows then blowing her nose.

"She vanished," you say, shrugging. "I guess it's a pixie thing?"

Slowly, Jane's eyes widen, and you can see the bloodshot redness in the whites of her eyes from all her tears. "No, that's most certainly _not_ a pixie thing! _Living __things _don't disappear when they die. People don't disappear when they die. Pixies don't either. Disappearing into a cloud of dust is something undead things do, like vampires and incubi like you."

It's your turn to slowly furrow your brows. You hadn't thought of that. Why didn't you think of that? "No, she wasn't dusted. She _disappeared_. As in, she vanished. No dust. Are you sure that's not what pixies do?"

"Ask John when he wakes up if you don't believe me," Jane says confidently. She squeezes her eyes shut for a couple seconds and murmurs, "oh God oh God, I know this means something, but I forgot what it means! I'll have to look into it when I get back home."

"Let me know what you find," you say, very curious yourself.

"I will," she agrees.

Silence falls between you both again. You're suddenly acutely aware that you're sitting mostly naked on your shower floor and that Jane's used up half a roll of toilet paper blowing her nose.

"So, about Jake," Jane begins awkwardly. "I feel like I kind of owe you an explanation."

"You really don't have to—" you attempt to say.

"Yes, I do," she interrupts. "We dated a while ago. Before I knew you. It just didn't work out between us. I broke it off, but it hurt. It still does a little, which is why I get jealous sometimes."

"Why didn't it work?" you ask, mostly because you want to be a good friend to her but also because you're curious yourself.

"Jake is—eccentric. I'm sure you've realized that by now. It's part of what I loved about him," Jane murmurs. "But behind all of that, there's more. There's a story he told me a long time ago. One he made me promise never to repeat."

"Hmm," you murmur noncommittally.

"Dirk, I want to tell you. I want to tell you so badly, but I promised him, and I'm so sorry, I just can't—" she rambles in a very un-Jane-like way.

"It's ok," you reassure her, ceasing her rambling. "I'm sure he'll tell me someday."

"He probably will," she agrees, her eyes shifting around uncomfortably. "When he told me, I knew I couldn't fix him. I couldn't help him. But maybe you can."

You quirk an eyebrow up in interest. "You're telling me there's something the all-mighty Jane Crocker couldn't handle?"

She laughs one soft and bitter laugh, "yes. And his name is Jake English."

You don't say anything else, and Jane looks increasingly uncomfortable sitting on your toilet. After blowing her nose one last time, she tosses the wad of tissues into your wastebasket. "Thanks for this talk, Dirk. I think I needed that. Thank you for telling me about—what happened."

Slowly, you dip your head, nodding. "Anytime, Jane. I'll try to be online more, but call me anytime. Or tell AR to pester me. He lives in my shades."

She smiles, a soft and sad smile, and quietly says, "I will. Look, I probably shouldn't stick around. Bro doesn't need me anymore anyway. I'll stay tonight, but tomorrow I'm headed back home."

You nod again in agreement. You'd feel awkward as hell staying in your place too if you were her.

Jane stands up and walks the couple paces to the door. Resting her hand on the doorknob, she says quietly, "whatever happens, I know that you'll do the right thing. I trust you, Dirk."

She quietly leaves the bathroom.

You sit alone in the shower with your own thoughts for another hour before you slink quietly to the futon and fall asleep.

* * *

**Dirk: Wake up**

Jane's gone when you get up the following day. She left behind a stack of scones as a parting gift. It's the first time you haven't wanted to eat Jane's cooking.

You've got some time before you have to head to work, and you reflect on how it was probably stupid to sleep when you don't know if the agents are coming after you or not. But at this point, you don't really care. Dave's safe with Bro, you imagine, and the only one you're really responsible for right now is yourself. Quite frankly, you are so pissed off at yourself that you don't care if the agents come for you or not.

You're in this distraught state when Jake finally stumbles from his room, sitting in a chair beside you and eyeing the blueberry scones in a sad and guilty way. You sit in silence for a moment before he clears his throat awkwardly and murmurs, "Strider, mate, we have to talk."

"I know," you sigh. You're getting awfully tired of these talks. First Jane, and now Jake. What more will the cruel world throw at you? "I'm sorry Jake."

Jake looks at you with bewilderment. "_You're_ sorry? Whatever for? I should be the sorry one!"

You stare at him through your shades, just as perplexed as him. "What?"

He looks down at his hands, a light flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as he stammers out the most backwards line of reasoning you think you've ever heard. "I asked you to be my boyfriend, and then I couldn't even work up the nerve to smooch you. All night I gabbed on about films in the theater and you listened to me patiently. I couldn't do it, Strider. And then you went and smooched _me_ and I was nothing but a cold fish!"

"Jake, what're you goin' on about?" you ask, the texture of your voice thickening into an unfortunate Texan accent. You swallow a bit of your own spit, determined to put that shit away.

"You may not know this, but I don't have a lot of experience in this area," Jake murmurs, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he casts a shy little glance at you. He hesitates a moment before he finally says, "you're my first boyfriend, Dirk."

You really should have guessed that sooner. And now that you know that, you feel even worse about manipulating him last night. Clearly he doesn't seem to remember it that way. You could very easily pass it off as nothing, but you know that the guilt would eat you alive. Or undead. Whatever.

And holy shit. Did he just call you _Dirk?_ Not Strider. Not mate. Not old bean or whatever the fuck else he says.

Yes, he did. And though it seems silly to you, you know that it means something to Jake. It's special, and it touches you in a warm way that almost brings a smile to your face. But you don't smile, because this is serious time. This is the real deal.

You want to be honest with Jake. And for that very reason you say, "I have to tell you something. You've got it backwards. I'm the one at fault."

"I beg your pardon?" Jake asks, a look of confusion again on his face.

"I can manipulate people." Slowly, you reach up and pull your shades off your face, truly showing Jake your orange eyes for the first time. You squint a bit in the fading sunlight, but you'll bear through it for him. "When I make eye-contact with people, I can make them do things," you explain reluctantly.

Jake is silent, his eyes widening as he stares into yours.

"I made you kiss me yesterday. And if Jane hadn't stopped me, I don't know what else I would have made you do," you admit, feeling the shame and guilt clawing through you, ready to devour you whole. "Jake, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I—"

"Strider," he cuts you off, pressing a hand to your lips. "You talk entirely too much."

In any other circumstance, you'd find that line horribly hypocritical and beautifully ironic coming from his lips. But his hand slides tenderly to rest on your cheek, and when he leans forward his lips are suddenly on yours.

You may be Jake's first boyfriend, but the man can kiss. It's beautiful and sweet, and it lingers like the warmth of the sun on a patch of wild clover. When he pulls away from you, there's nothing but fond tenderness in his viridian eyes.

"You don't care about what I did?" You ask, daring to bring the subject back up.

Jake sighs softly, threading his fingers through the hairs on the back of your head in a way that feels too nice to tell him to stop. "It was decently daft of you, but it _is_ something I wanted to do. No harm done." He pauses, averting his gaze briefly in thought before flicking it back to you. "But next time, perhaps let me do it myself? I'd hate it if every romantic part of our relationship had to be through your manipulation. There's no mangrit in that!"

"Yeah, I can do that," you agree. A smile slowly works its way onto your face, and you're powerless to stop it. You're just so fucking pathetically happy right now.

Jake is yours. All on his own. He's yours.


	8. Sloppy Makeouts!

**Chapter 8**

* * *

**Dirk: Sloppy Makeouts!**

(Warning! Dirk is an incubus. More than sloppy makeouts happen in this chapter. Note the change in the rating of this story. Read at your own risk!)

You'd like to spend the whole night with Jake on top of you, kissing and cuddling, but you do have responsibility. It's with the deepest reluctance that you pull yourself away from him and remind him that you have work to do.

Tonight, you have to park a couple blocks away from the bar just to get a parking spot. When you reach Bro's lounge, you're shocked to find that in the matter of one evening, Bro and the Nitrams have completely revamped the place. The windows are not only completely fixed, they're tinted to give the place a desirably smoky look. The awning above the door has been replaced with a posh matted black material, and above that something catches your attention that makes you give pause for a moment.

Above the doorway, in bright friendly letters, the word "Haven" is proudly displayed. Over the years, Bro had always referred to his lounge as a haven for otherworldly creatures and demons such as yourselves, but never had he bothered to actually give the place a name. Looks like the Nitrams finally pushed him into it. The sign is a louder than you'd like, but you think the name fits.

Inside, it's so packed that you can barely squeeze through. Every seat is taken and even the standing space is filled with people. Demons, humans, all crowding together drinking and chattering. The Nitrams have certainly done their work.

All the demonic patrons of the bar have a way of blending in with the masses. You're lucky, because your eyes are the only thing that would really give you away. And your horrible aversion to anything holy, but that's simple enough to avoid. Unless Jane Crocker happens to be around.

Despite everyone's natural abilities to blend in, getting enough demons together in a bar tends to have this additive effect of bringing your differences out. Even though they quite possibly stand out the most, the Nitrams have a way of charming the suspicion out of people. Humans don't even _think_ about the existence of demons when they're around, despite what they may see and hear. It's an incredibly useful talent. You wonder how long Bro plans to exploit them for it.

You take Jake's hand and pull him through the crowd.

Once you make it past the employees only door you finally heave a sigh of relief.

"Like the new look?" Bro asks, materializing out of nowhere beside you. "Bet it'd be easy now to find someone to—oohhhh—"

He stops mid-sentence and looks at you. Bro's still wearing his shades, but you know that his gaze flicks over to Jake before it settles back on you. Wordlessly, he offers you a fist-bump.

You bump his fist back but roll your eyes behind your own shades. You should have known he'd figure you and Jake out immediately. Goddamn telepaths.

"How is John?" you ask, ready to get the attention off you.

Bro indicates toward his office with a jerk of his head. "Kid's still asleep. Dave's worried sick. Like literally, little shit puked in my trashcan a couple times already. Waste of perfectly good sasquatch blood."

You shudder, glad you're not the one who had to drink it.

"Don't worry, you'll get your turn," he assures you. He goes on to ask, "like what the Nitrams have done with the place?"

"It's an improvement over yesterday," you agree. "Where are they?"

"In the crowd somewhere, doing their thing," Bro says, waving in the general direction of the lounge. "Everyone's making sure they don't let the humans party too hard."

You smirk. Only an issue the Nitrams would have.

"Anyway, Dave's not going anywhere tonight which means _you've_ got some work to do," Bro says, handing you a sheet with the night's assignments on them.

You skim over the page and frown. "This is it?"

"Despite all the new informants we have out there, there isn't much news. Derse is lying low," Bro says with a very slight frown. "That means they're planning something. Keep your guard up. We have no idea when they might strike."

With an uneasy feeling, you leave the bar and prepare for the night.

* * *

**Dirk: Work it!**

You mean, go to work, right?

Sure. You and Jake make short work of the zombies haunting a supermarket and quickly wipe the remnants of some overzealous imps from a junkyard nearby. And that's it.

Bro wasn't kidding. Derse is laying _really _low. It bothers you.

Jake seems less than bothered. In fact, you'd say he's positively chipper tonight. When he drags you to the movie theater a few minutes later, you realize why.

"No. Please. Not that. Anything but that," you say, completely deadpan, as Jake shows you the movie tickets he picked up.

"Stop being such a ninny," Jake swats at your shoulder and grins, handing a ticket to you. "I'll get you orange sodaaaa," he says, his voice lilting off suggestively.

You can't argue with that. So a few minutes later, you find yourself watching quite possibly the worst horror film you've ever seen and sipping delicious orange soda.

"Dude, that's totally ketchup," you point out, as a head goes flying across the screen, thick goopy red material dripping off the severed end. "They couldn't even spring the extra five bucks for fake blood from the Halloween store?"

"Ssh!" Jake shushes you. "You'll ruin the good part!"

Nevermind that Jake thinks all the parts are "the good part."

You really can't be bothered with watching this movie right now, so instead you turn your attention to Jake. His hair, that's somehow feathered and fluffy, his bright green eyes that are widened and trained on the screen, and the adorable way his front teeth peek out from his slightly parted lips.

He's your boyfriend now. Boyfriend. Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend.

You think the happy word over and over, and you don't even realize the soft smile that crosses your lips.

**timaeusTestified [TT] ****began pestering**** timaeusTestified [TT] ****at 11:25**

**TT: I think someone owes their intelligent and incredibly sexy computer counterpart a "thank you." That someone is you.**

You can't help rolling your eyes as the bright orange text scrolls across the lenses of your shades. "_You're lucky it went well,_" you think back at him. "_You don't know how close I was to deleting you._"

**TT: Ouch. You hurt me, bro. Cause you know I haven't had ages to backup my program anywhere. That could have been the end of me. The fucking end.**

"_Point made. What do you want?_" You think back to him.

**TT: Not much. Just the sweet satisfaction of knowing I was right. I was right first.**

"_Goddamn, was I always this much of a cocky asshole?_"

**TT: First. First. I was right first. You can't hear it, but I'm making a song out of this. A beautiful symphony of righteousness.**

You pointedly ignore AR as he gloats on for the next half hour and instead slowly move your hand over to Jake's. He sighs lightly when you brush your fingers together, entwining them and clasping them loosely.

Jake grins, flicking his gaze over at you for one brief moment before returning his attention to the screen. Just in time to see the oatmeal for guts spray out of someone. Joy.

But his hand tightens around yours, and he leans his shoulder into yours, getting more comfy. You lean back into him, lightly resting your heads together. Your shades protest, tilting up a little into his hair, but you don't care.

AR continues to ramble on as you close your eyes and just enjoy the warmth of Jake's body next to yours.

* * *

**Dirk: Fast Forward**

The following days are uneventful. You start hearing talk of "Haven" all over town, and it isn't long before you have to start using the back employee entrance just to get inside. Kanaya now stands guard at the door, keeping at bay the hundreds of people waiting to get inside with her chainsaw. None dare to defy her. Bro doesn't seem to mind the extra patronage, though Karkat looks even more furious than usual about having to deal with the "fuckton of nookwhiffing bulgelickers" every night. Whatever that means.

Somewhere around day four or five, John wakes up. Your little bro is happier than you've ever seen him.

You were actually around when it happened. Dave looked miserable, laying on the couch in Bro's office in what you swear was the same position he was in last night. Did the kid even move? There were streaks from fresh tears on his face. After so many days, Bro must have forced him to change into one of his shirts, which was way too big and hung loosely off Dave.

Huh, strange. Rainbow Dash? You never knew Bro was a fan.

Had you not been walking into Bro's office to retrieve your assignment, you think Dave probably would have continued sleeping. But as you rudely barged through the door, you woke him up. And you woke someone else up too.

"Go the fuck away," Dave moaned, rolling slightly over to the side.

"Mmm…" John's murmur was barely audible. You could hear the rustling of him lightly struggling to squirm out of the small blue blanket Kanaya made for him earlier in the week. "…Dave?"

Dave woke up quicker than you've ever seen, sitting up and holding John carefully in his hands as the fairy sleepily began rubbing his eyes. "John? Holy fucking shit please tell me you're really awake and this isn't just some douchery that my mind is pulling on me while I'm asleep. I'll be so pissed if this is like Inception. Don't need Joseph Gordon-Levitt all up in my business telling me what to think."

You're a little impressed that you remember his ramble.

John laughed, his voice sounding a little hoarse from sleeping so long. "Yes Dave. This is all a dream. Soon Nic Cage is going to bust through the wall riding a motorcycle and take us to Neverland."

"That reference is lame. The lamest of lames. And it makes no sense. No way my brain would have come up with that," Dave said, pulling John close to his chest. Fondly, he stroked John's back with his thumb. It was quiet, but you're pretty sure he murmured, "I'm so fucking happy you're back."

You and Jake were too.

After that, Dave starts taking his share of the work again, which leaves you with even less to do. Most days you finish after an hour or two and spend the rest of the evening chilling comfortably in your bromance—romance—with Jake. Although, things haven't gone as far as you'd like. He's still an excellent kisser, but you don't get to feel those lips nearly enough. You've decided that there are two main reasons for this.

One is that Jake runs-headfirst-into-danger English is incredibly shy about PDA. What the ever-loving fuck? He flushes most adorably when you pat his butt in public (even if there's nobody around) and just the thought of kissing out in the open turns him into a rambling mess that reminds you very much of your little bro.

Speaking of which, after John woke up, Bro decided Dave couldn't keep sleeping on his couch anymore. And after the attack, he wouldn't let him live on his own. He gave Dave one of two options. Either move in with him or you.

Dave chose you.

And so it was that you gave your room to your little bro and once again moved all your shit out into the living room. Second-hand futon. Best bed.

You honestly don't mind sleeping on the futon, considering how rarely you sleep anyway. If you really wanted to, you could turn your workshop room into a bedroom, but why bother? There's so much clutter in there that you doubt you'd be able to fit even a pile of blankets or anything to fall asleep on in there.

It doesn't bother you. For the first couple days.

Around the third day after Dave moved in, you begin to feel decidedly agitated. You want nothing more than to grab Jake and kiss him, and taste him, and screw him. He's your boyfriend now, damnit! He's been your boyfriend for over a week. You're entitled to these things!

But you know that he will never do any of that with your little bro around and John (who has also moved in with you.) It's aggravating, and you feel like you've never been this annoyed with your little bro before. How many _years_ did he live with you and you never cared?

It's not even a space thing. You could care less that he parades around the place in nothing but his boxers and shades, or that he eats your food. You even go out of your way to buy apple juice for the kid because you know he loves it. You like having Dave around to joke with him, strife with him, and watch shitty ass movies with him.

But you're really hating it too. And you can't put your finger on why.

You don't figure it out until John flies into your chest to give you a big hug, pathetically happy that you've recently purchased a collection of Nic Cage films for a glorious marathon this weekend.

And all you want to do is screw him.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck fuck fuck.

You snort a bit at your horrible choice of mental swear words. John looks up at you, his bright blue eyes full of questions you'd rather not answer. You tap him lightly on the back a couple times, your way of hugging him back. John immediately brightens and flies away to share the good news of the upcoming marathon with Dave.

You do what you always do when you feel a mental crisis coming on. Take a shower.

About half an hour into the shower, Dave's banging on the door, whining about how you're taking all the hot water. You tell him to shove off, and he does.

Right now you want to be anywhere but here. You've been so wrapped up in dating Jake and not screwing anything up that you had neglected feeding your inner demon. But now that you're aware of it, your incubus side is even more ravished than before. Jake's human food does a decent job of satisfying you, but you do have other needs. Needs that you don't think you'll be able to ignore much longer.

It's tearing you apart from inside, leaving a raw burning chasm that you can't fill. You crave sex. You need it. You'll die without it.

But Jake doesn't seem ready for that yet. You don't want to push him, but you don't want to cheat on him either. And you don't really want to die.

It's a problem. A problem you aren't sure you can solve right now.

So you do what you do best. Ignore it.

You emerge from the shower hours late for work. Dave's tapping his foot in annoyance. "How long ago did the hot water run out?"

"About an hour and a half ago," you admit with your best I-don't-give-a-shit shrug.

He growls something back and takes the shortest Strider shower in history.

You walk out of your apartment, the light of the crescent moon above guiding your way. Maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe you can just ignore your want. If you can wait a little longer, Jake might be ready. If you can just wait a little longer—

It hits you again when you all pack into your Jeep. You half-stumble into your Jeep, causing Dave to look at you with concern, but you wave it off. He arches an eyebrow but doesn't question you.

You desperately want to screw something. More than want. Your body's telling you that you _need_ it _badly_.

No, definitely not now.

You grip the steering wheel a little tighter and distract yourself by glancing into the rear view mirror, watching Dave and John banter back and forth with Jake about which Nic Cage movie to start with later tonight. It's obvious that Jake and John both truly love all of those movies, and your bro, little snot that he is, is gleefully egging them on.

"Dude, National Treasure 2. It's his best movie," Dave says, completely straight-faced as he subtly pokes John.

"Ohhh you're right, it's SO good! But Con Air's still my favorite!" John exclaims.

"I must say, National Treasure is a top-notch piece of cinema!" Jake agrees whole-heartedly. "It's almost as good as Ghost Rider. The special effect when his head becomes a flaming skull is simply magnificent! Wouldn't you agree, Strider?"

It takes you a moment to realize that he's talking to you and not Dave. With your practiced expressionless face, you say, "I'm disappointed, English. How could you forget The Wicker Man?"

This starts both Jake and John on a loud and long tirade of exclamations, Jake acknowledging that it's a piece of the highest-quality cinema and John lamenting that there was never a sequel. Dave glances up just barely, and you know he's looking at you in the rear view mirror too. He gives you a half-smirk. You think he just might be starting to forgive you for using up all the hot water.

When you get to work, Bro takes one look at you and ushers you into his office. He shuts the door behind him with a sense of finality, leaving the others bewildered outside. "Dude, not cool."

"What?" you ask, feeling defiant as you stand by his desk as nonchalantly as you possibly can. He's standing right next to you, and though he's about your height, somehow through sheer presence and force of will he feels fifty feet taller. You do your best look as Strider-calm as you can.

He doesn't buy it.

"Cut the shit," Bro says. Half a second later, his hands are on your head. Before you have a chance to react, he's grasped the back of your hair, pulling your head back with one hand and tipping your shades down with the other. He looks into your orange eyes, which you know from looking in the mirror this morning are bleeding a shade of red unnatural for even your kind.

One good look is all he needs before he's releasing your head, swearing a little under his breath. You push your shades back up indignantly but don't say anything.

"How long ago did you last feed?" he finally asks.

"Jake made pancakes this morning," you answer petulantly.

"That is _not _what I fucking meant and _you know it_," Bro growls lowly. "Answer the question."

You don't answer him.

Bro prowls closer into your personal space than you'd like. You don't need your incubus skills to know that he is more than pissed at you. His voice lowers, and you know he means business when he demands again, "_how long ago?_"

"Not really sure," you finally admit. A lot has been happening recently, and you haven't kept track. "Maybe a couple weeks ago?"

"Oh fuck no, I am _not_ dealing with this whiny-ass emo shit," Bro growls, pacing away and taking off his cap so that he can rake both hands through his hair. After a moment, he glares back at you and points a finger in your direction. "I'm only gonna say this once, so you'd better listen to me. You know what happens if you don't eat. You die. And you might hurt or kill other people close to you in the process."

You stay silent as he moves in closer, until you can feel the angered heat radiating from his body next to yours. "I know you just started dating Jake, and I'm happy for you. I want you and Dave to both have the happiness I never did. But don't let it mess with your head. Even Dave knows that he needs to eat. He and John have talked about it."

"They have?" you finally wonder aloud.

"Yes, they have," Bro snarls back. "And you and Jake had better have that conversation pronto. In fact—"

Bro trails off, stalking to the door and throwing it open. Like a Warner Brothers cartoon, Dave, John, and Jake are all crouched near the ground, eagerly listening just outside. He grabs Jake, pulling him into the office. Then he thrusts a piece of paper into Dave's hands. "It's all you tonight lil' man. Dirk's out of commission. Go."

Dave's eyebrows rise just above the line of his shades, but he doesn't say anything. With a silent nod, he takes the paper and leaves.

Bro turns to you and says, "I'm leaving now. Gonna take care of some business. You two. Figure your shit out. Now."

With a sense of finality, he closes the door behind him.

You and Jake are left standing awkwardly in his office. The slow ticking of Bro's desk clock that you never seem to notice is suddenly deafening. Jake stares at you. You stare at Jake.

This couldn't get more awkward.

"So umm, I couldn't hear everything through the door, but Bro wants us to talk?" Jake asks. He thinks for a moment, then adds on, "— about sex?"

Correction. It could get more awkward.

"Yeah. Yeah, he does," You sigh slowly, removing your shades and pressing your thumb and forefinger lightly to your eyes. After a good few moments, you look up into his emerald eyes and finally say, "you know what I am. I don't need to remind you."

Jake slowly nods his head. "You're a— a succubus."

You wince a little, but you give him points for trying. "I'd prefer incubus, but yeah. You've got the idea."

You were kind of hoping that Jake would put two and two together from that, but he continues to stare at you expectantly. The look in his eyes is eager, with just a touch of concern. You get the feeling that what you've got to tell him will hurt him. It makes your nerves tingle and a heavy weight settle in your stomach.

Suddenly you hate Bro, and you hate that he's making you have this talk with Jake. Doesn't he realize that you could lose the only real boyfriend you've ever had over this?

Because, even though you've only been dating a few days, Jake is the only boyfriend that you've ever really cared for. Sure, through the decades, they've come and gone. And they weren't exactly little flings either. Rufioh was definitely a thing for a while, platonic though it was. Bro was positively pissed at how long your destructive relationship with Caliborn lasted. When the two of you finally split, he and Dave both threw you the most ironically grandiose "eligible bachelor" party ever. They filled Bro's lounge with phallic shaped balloons and even had pony rides and a petting zoo.

The bastards.

But you do love your bros. And you know that they both want what's best for you. Bro wouldn't have done this otherwise.

With Caliborn, Rufioh, and all the other guys you ever dated, you never hesitated to show your affections from day one. But with Jake, it's a little different. You actually give a fuck about him, and you _really_ don't want to mess things up.

That's why when he continues to stare at you, painfully unaware of what you're trying to tell him, you feel a horrible wrenching in your chest. You've got to be man enough to tell him someday. Looks like that day is today.

"Jake, you remember what I eat, right? You know, besides your breakfasts?" You murmur quietly, still determinedly looking into his eyes without your shades. You know that he can see every bit of emotion that you usually hide behind your dark sunglasses, and that makes you feel weird. But you think you owe it to him to at least know what you're thinking. If this whole mess heads south, then you'll know that at least you tried.

"I—recall, yes," he stammers slowly, a flush rising to his cheeks. Goddamn is he adorable. You _really_ hope you don't fuck this up.

"I told you from day one that I'd never make you do something you don't want to do. Guess I already broke that, but I'm keeping my word from here out," you say, working up the nerve and bravado to continue with what may be the sappiest line you've ever allowed yourself to utter. "Jake English, I care about you, and I don't want to lose you. I'll never make you do something that you don't want to do."

His eyes continue to fill with concern, his eyebrows raising and his pupils constricting with the concentration he's placing on you. It's clear that realization is slowly beginning to dawn on him. He doesn't speak, though. He's waiting for you to finish.

"But I have to eat," you say quietly. "I'll die soon if I don't."

He opens his mouth, looking like he's about to say something, but you interject quickly. You have to get everything out before you lose your resolve.

"I'll wait for you as long as it takes until you're ready. After that, I'll never betray you," you say, your voice full of conviction and your resolve unwavering. A strangely touching and simultaneously horrible realization dawns on you right after you say those words.

You'll die for Jake English.

Holy fuck. When did you fall this hard for him? When did that happen? It's only been a few goddamned months.

You're certain Bro would strife you right now and beat the living shit out of you if he knew what was going through your head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he figured that out already. Maybe that's why he forced you to have this painfully awkward conversation.

You avert your eyes, not wanting to see the pain in his expression as you finally bring up what you'd been too afraid to say before. "But until then, I hope you don't mind if I find sustenance elsewhere. I think you know what that means."

"Strider, mate, I-I never realized you were," Jake stammers, his voice trailing off abruptly. His arms are around you before you get the chance to glance back up at him. He's warm, and nuzzling his cheek to yours, and gripping your shirt tightly, as if you might fly away from him, and it feels _so_ _damned good_. He tucks his chin in the crook between your shoulder and neck and murmurs softly into your ear, "you never needed to wait for me. I never expected that. You are completely mind boggling, Dirk!"

You hum lightly, taking the opportunity to embrace him back. His black t-shirt fits tightly to him, and you can feel the cords of his muscle beneath your fingertips. He smells divine. You want him. You want him _so_ badly. And you _think_ maybe he wants you?

It's taking him a little while to respond. You're not sure where he's going with this. You kind of don't want to know. Already, you're getting your hopes up, but really, you know that you shouldn't.

It's likely that you'll end up screwing a complete stranger again tonight. Another meaningless routine just to continue living. It's always been a part of life for you, but you never realized just how much you hated it. Not until now, when you are so close and yet so distant from someone you really care about.

Suddenly, there's meaning in the act. It's no longer a game of horizontal tango. It's something that could potentially hurt the one you care the most about.

But Jake doesn't sound upset at all. He doesn't seem to mind the idea of you carrying on as usual, but you can't be completely certain. Jake is befuddling. It's something you both love and hate about him. You never know what he's going to do next. You squint your eyes ever so slightly, trying to best estimate his next move.

He does something you least expected him to do.

Jake chuckles. Gently, he caresses the back of your neck, weaving his fingers into your perfectly styled hair, and again you just can't seem to bring yourself to care. Not with Jake. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

Your eyes are widening. You think you know where this is going, and damn it this had better not be a farce. "Huh?" you say smartly.

He pulls back, so that you can see his face. There's a small shy grin on his lips and his eyes are full of coquettish mischief. He exhales a light breathy laugh and says, "Dirk, I'm no stranger to sex."

If you had a beating heart, you're certain it would have stopped. You replay Jake's last sentence over in your mind 5 times before you risk grinning and saying, "about fucking time."

Your lips are together again, and it's magic. You consider yourself an expert at this, and Jake's kisses are blissfully sinful. His mouth is warm and his lips move in a way that makes your entire body tingle. When he deepens the kiss, you eagerly pull at his tongue with your own. He tastes even better than you last remember. His beautiful viridian energy hits your tongue in a rush, and you pull it to you fervently. You want him so badly.

Suddenly, you remember why you're feeling this way. Yeah, Jake is a sexy piece of meat, but you're also a starving incubus. If you aren't careful, you could kill Jake tonight.

Regretfully, you pull away from him, already feeling the warming prickle of his energy seeping through your body. After just that one kiss, you're already feeling better. Your head is clearing, and suddenly you _definitely_ know you shouldn't continue here.

Jake looks confused, his eyebrows knitting up in question. "I thought you wanted to—"

"More than anything," you respond quickly. "But not here. Bro's fond of video cameras. Everywhere."

A look of understanding dawns on Jake's face. His cheeks flush a bit, likely from the embarrassment of knowing Bro will probably watch your kiss later. If he hasn't already. He stammers, "o-oh. Is that so? Well then, yes, you're quire right! We should relocate elsewhere."

It takes you five seconds to grab Jake's hand, pull him outside Bro's office and out the back door. Seconds later, you're in your Jeep and peeling down the street.

* * *

**Dirk: Sex it up!**

You don't make it far after stumbling into your apartment. Your lips are together quickly, fingers pulling at hair, caressing skin, tugging away clothing. The door is closed as an afterthought. Clothing is shed like a summer rain all over the floor on the way to Jake's bedroom.

Jake manages to push his door closed, and you don't even bother locking it. If Dave happens to come in here despite all the warning signs outside, it's his own damned fault.

You fall easily onto Jake's unmade bed, which dips generously in the middle from your combined weight. The window is wide open, but you don't give a fuck. Who's going to be peeking in at you this high up off the ground?

The moonlight highlights Jake's naked body in the most delightful way, catching the ridges of his taut muscles, his skin, his dick— You dip your head down and start kissing him everywhere.

From this point, it's usually all routine. Your body knows the best angles, where and how to kiss to give your lover the most pleasure. And even if he happens to be different, you can immediately sense what he likes best.

Feeling your lover's pleasure is part of your gift. When you kiss Jake in the sensitive place at the crook of his neck, you hear his soft gasp and _feel_ his charged emerald life-force rush over your lips. You lap every delicious bit up hungrily and search for more things that will make Jake moan.

You don't let this fall into the normal routine. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. Jake is different from all the others that you've ever bedded, if for no other reason, then simply for the fact that you love him. You actually love him.

And what a difference it makes.

When Jake lightly caresses your skin, he stokes a delicious fire within you. He touches you in ways that nobody else ever has. And you don't mean physically. You've been with excellent lovers, some who were arguably as talented and possibly well versed as you are. But when Jake's fingers brush your skin, they brush your soul. There's an undeniable warmth growing in your chest. A sense of happiness and elation that you never felt with any of your other lovers.

He strokes your hip and you exhale into the skin of his neck. He squeezes your ass and you want to bite him. He yanks you back roughly by the hair, and you _moan_ into his lips. He kisses you and it's wildfire running through your veins.

Jake has you, and you have him. And now that you have found him, you're never letting him go.

His breaths are heavy and warm, and it isn't long before you can see the want behind his eyes. And feel his hardness on your thigh.

You grin, gently pushing him onto his back. Slowly, you work your way down his body, pressing kisses into his warm skin, watching his expression falter, hearing his breath hitch. Without any clothing in the way, you're free to taste him everywhere, and it's so fucking good. You're hyper in-tuned to every roll of his delicious energy, and you make note of what Jake likes.

Jake likes it when you rake your fingernails against the back of his neck. You'd bet anything he'd like it if you bit him there too, but you'll save that for later. Jake's breath catches in his throat as your tongue dips into the sensitive crook behind his collarbone. He doesn't do much when you lightly circle a nipple, but he exhales a shaky, ragged breath as you trail your fingers down his torso, stopping to admire the taut ridges of muscle he's worked up over the years.

Jake English is in excellent shape. You take a moment just to appreciate his fully naked body.

Your fingers dance around your prize to caress his inner thigh, and he _whines_ in frustration. It's music to your ears. Jake has many flattering assets, including his dick, which you can confidently say is on the larger end of the scale.

Jake English has no patience. As usual, he's ready to spring into things, and he rolls his hips up in an effort to make contact with your skin anywhere he can. You tisk at him and lightly shake your head. "What's the rush, English? We've got all night."

You've been told in the past that you can be a cock-tease. You find absolutely no shame in that. Quite the opposite, you pride yourself on your ability to hold out and make your lovers _beg_ you for release.

But you don't feel like torturing Jake. At least, not tonight. So, instead you settle for something in between. Calmly, casually, you pin his hips down firmly with your palms and lick from the base to the tip of his shaft in one slow, long motion. And oh, again, that _whine!_ The sound that comes from Jake's throat is somehow both strangulated and beautiful, and you want to hear more.

To hell with the Jake torture. You're throwing that idea out the window right now. You love this man, and you're going to show him just what you can do.

You lavish attention on his dick, taking him all the way down your throat until your nose is buried in the warm fuzzy hair at the base—that smells like _Jake– _and _holy hell_ do you want this man. He's gasping above you, his fingers entwining in your hair as you suck and swallow him again and again. His legs tense around you, and you have to fight to keep his hips down.

Has Jake ever had a blowjob before? You're certain he would have choked any other partner several times by now with his aggressive nature and insistent thrusts. Good thing you're not just any other partner.

That reminds you of exactly what you are, and you actually pull back at the thought. You're a demon. An incubus. And you've been feeding off the delicious energy rolling off Jake hungrily, but you're still starving.

You really don't want to kill Jake tonight. You love him too much for that.

Jake lifts his head up, panting heavily and looking at you with the most adorably confused expression. "Did-did I hurt you?"

Quickly you shake your head. "No, you're fine, English." Gently, you reach up and caress the wisps of hair near his forehead, lightly pushing his head back down onto the bed. "Just enjoy this and—tell me if you start getting light-headed or anything."

"Wha—?" is all he manages to say before your mouth is on him again. The words die in his throat in a small gasp, and his hands fly back to your head, insistently pushing you down onto his dick. Holy hell, have you ever been with a partner so aggressive?

You think back on it. No, you don't think so. You made out with Eridan once, and that was pretty intense, but it was nothing like this. Caliborn had an unusual definition of loving, but that was different too. Jake English is in a class of his own.

You lavish attention on him, sucking his hardness and squeezing his thighs, insisting that he keep them in place. Jake's starting to become more vocal, his little whines growing louder and more frequent. You can feel his dick swelling in your mouth, down your throat, and you know that he isn't going to last too much longer.

Sure enough, Jake takes a shaky breath and fixes you with an adorable and vulnerable expression, a slight haze in his eyes and the dusting of a flush across his cheeks. "D-Dirk—I think—I think I'm—"

He doesn't get farther than that. You don't let him. One decisively hard suck is all it takes to make him spill his delicious warmth down your throat. You swallow it, naturally. You're not about to pass that up. For some reason that you'll never understand, it fills your incubus urges far better than the rest of the blowjob possibly could.

You sigh softly, finally deliciously sated. Gently, you release him from your mouth and his hips from your grip. You kiss the tip, licking away the remnants of his love that spill out a little late.

The small huffs of Jake's breath begin to slow down, and finally, he looks up at you, fixing you with the brightest eyes and a small shy smile. "Golly, Strider, I'm sorry I—"

You hush him with a chaste kiss on the lips. "No need to apologize. Why do you think I did it?"

"But you— you're not," Jake stammers in a very roundabout and endearing way. You know exactly what he is trying to say, and you could help him out. But, watching him struggle is too cute to pass up. He tries again. "You didn't—come? Is that the right term around these parts?"

By this point, his cheeks are bright red with embarrassment. You kiss each of them gently and murmur gently in his ear, "it's ok, English. Your pleasure's all that matters."

He shivers, and you're not sure if he likes what you've said or if he's cold. You really hope it's the former. You lay in the crux between his body and the wall and begin to pull the covers over you both, but he stills your hand adamantly. "No, this simply isn't right!"

You pause, watching him, curious to see where he's going with this.

He turns to face you, his hand slowly, hesitantly working its way south. He rests it on your stomach, just shy of your sex. "I don't care if you're—what you are."

His cheeks are flushed again, and you can't help the grin that comes to your face. You fleck a finger playfully atop his nose and murmur, "—an incubus?"

"Yes that," he mutters quickly.

"Say it," you demand softly. Not because you care, but because you want to see his reaction.

You're not disappointed. Jake gasps, the flush deepening on his cheeks, and he stammers, "I—wait, why?"

"Because I want to hear you say it," you trail your finger down his cheek and neck, lightly caressing the tender skin at the back of his neck. He shudders, and yes, you have really fallen hard for this man.

You start kissing the crux of his neck, the sensitive place you mapped out earlier, coaxing a soft gasp out of him. "_I-incubus…_" he moans.

You are so hard for him. But Jake has never had a boyfriend before, and you really don't want to scare him away with the first day of sex. The incubus inside you is satisfied, and that's good enough for you right now.

So you kiss him again and gently stop his hand from moving further down your body. Instead, you clasp his hand fondly in your own and murmur into his ear, "maybe tomorrow, Jake."

He shivers again. This time, when you pull the covers up over you both, he doesn't stop you.

* * *

**LateNiteSlacker's Notes:**

Some of you may have noticed that I'm fond of updating on Thursdays. It's a phenomenon I like to call "Update Thursday," because really, what else is there to look forward to on a Thursday? Jack shit, that's what.

I've tried to update every Thursday since beginning this story, and I'll continue to do my best. But unfortunately, after this point, I may not be able to update every "Update Thursday." Sadly, I've run out of buffer chapters, and Life is busy. You know the drill.

But that doesn't mean that I love you any less! I always appreciate likes, adds, and the ever so elusive "comments." I'll keep doing my best to bring you Dirk and Jake's story as quickly as I can.

Love to you all, and best wishes for a very happy holiday season!


	9. In the Forest, there is an Heir

**Chapter 9: In the Forest, there is an Heir**

* * *

**Dirk: Enjoy the afterglow**

You wake up the next day to Jake slowly pulling out of your arms. When he realizes he's woken you, he gives you an apologetic look and says, "rats! Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"S'ok," you mumble half into his pillow. Lazily, you reach out for him, pulling him back into the bed with you.

He yelps, not expecting the surprise grab. "Strider! What are you doing?!"

"I wanna cuddle," you murmur into the back of his hair, looping your arm around him and pulling his back up against your body. Mmm. Jake Jake Jake. No other influences. Just your Jake.

He curls easily against your body, lightly protesting, "but I have to make breakfast."

"Breakfast can wait," you say, nuzzling into the crook at the base of his neck. You manage to keep the grin off your face as you suggest, "Or _you_ can be breakfast."

You feel him tense and gasp. "Dirk, are you saying you need—"

Finally, you allow yourself a chuckle, a small cue since he can't see you right now. "I don't _need _anything, Jake. You did just fine yesterday. I'll be good at least another week. But what I _want_ might be a different story."

Jake sighs, melting further into your body. You've been around the block long enough to know when someone's ready to give it to you. Jake is all yours, and you're _so _ready to—

Suddenly, a loud obnoxious sound fills the air.

Instantly, Jake pulls himself from your grasp, looking around. "What's that?"

You sigh at the over-the-top dubstep song. You chose this ringtone for only one person. One person whose call you really shouldn't ignore. Grudgingly, you pull yourself away from Jake and sigh, "It's just Bro."

You find your pants lying in a pile in the middle of the floor and fish your phone out of a pocket. Jake's already somehow magically fully clothed and ready for the day. Fuck.

Answering the call, you growl at your brother, "what do you want?"

"Interrupting something?" he asks.

"Not anymore," you sigh, as Jake escapes the room, shutting the door behind him. A second or two later, you hear the banging of cupboards and pans in the kitchen.

"You figure your shit out last night?" he asks, not missing a beat.

"Yeah," you agree.

"Good. Then I need you to come in early today," Bro, slave-driver extraordinaire, says.

You flick your gaze at the clock in Jake's room. "Dude, it's barely noon."

"And I give so many shits about that," he answers with mock sympathy. "Get Dave up too. Be here in an hour."

He doesn't wait for you to reply before hanging up.

Sometimes you really hate Bro.

Dave whines something terrible when you try to get him out of bed. You have to yank all the covers off him and literally throw him fully clothed into the running shower before he finally wakes up. "_Fuck!_ It's cold!" He yelps.

You shut the door behind you and make your way to the kitchen, where Jake is stirring a pot of what you assume to be oatmeal. With a heavy sigh, you flop into a kitchen chair, watching him work. "Bro wants us there in an hour," you mumble.

Jake is at your side, cupping your cheek, and kissing you before you realize it. Yes, you could get used to this. "Then we'll be there in an hour," he says, with one last chaste kiss.

Forlornly, you watch Jake's ass, that could have been yours this morning, sway away from you and return to the kitchen.

A quiet moan to your left makes you glance over to find a miserable looking John. He's sitting on the table with his head between his knees, his wings drooping behind him. You'd swear that his naturally bright blue aura looks a little green today. Hesitantly, you lightly touch a finger to his shoulder. "You ok?"

"Nooooo," John moans. It takes him at least a minute, but eventually he elaborates, "Dave wanted to party with the Nitrams last night. Wanted to give you space."

Suddenly it all makes perfect sense. You kind of feel a little guilty now. "How much did you drink?"

John groans again. "I don't ever want to see alcohol again."

You chuckle a little at his expense. "Sorry to break it to ya, but you work at Haven. It's kind of a bar."

He sighs very loudly and flops over onto the table, curling up into his ultra comfy looking blue pajamas. "I like the name," he mumbles to you. "But I hate alcohol."

When Dave stumbles out of the shower, you sense that John might not be the only one feeling a little under the weather. He's put the same dripping wet clothes back on. "Dude, different clothes."

He grumbles something that vaguely resembles a swear to you and disappears into his (your) room.

Your shower is less than legendary or infinite this afternoon, leaving you less than pleased. You didn't even have time to properly style your hair, and it's doing this weird fanning thing in the front. You hate it and constantly try to flatten it out as you drive down the road, but Jake seems to love it. He seems highly amused with your grumbles when he insistently fans it back out with his fingers.

Since it's so early, you actually can get a good parking spot and can walk into Haven through the front door. When the bottles of liquor behind the bar come into view, you swear you hear John retch a little bit. Dave quietly grumbles, "aww, nasty! Not on my shirt!" But the slight furrowing of his brows gives away his concern. He cradles John carefully in his hands as you keep walking.

You find Bro sitting behind his desk with two ultra sized mega gulp cups from the gas station down the street. You're 100% positive that it isn't Coke in those cups.

"You're right," Bro agrees with your thoughts. "It's Kraken blood. One for each of you. Drink up."

Grudgingly, you and Dave accept the cups and sit on Bro's couch to finish them.

Kraken blood has to be some of the worst blood you've ever tasted. It's salty and _fishy_ and reminds you of the stuff John spewed on Dave's shirt.

"John's sick?" Bro asks, raising an eyebrow in concern.

"Drank too much," Dave answers for his boyfriend, who is already fast asleep on his thigh.

"Great," Bro says in a decidedly sarcastic way and frowns. "I can't do much to help the living, but maybe Latula can work up a hangover remedy. You're going to need John today, so much as I want to, I can't let the little dude rest."

Bro hands you the paper with your assignment on it. You read it and quirk an eyebrow back up at him. "Are we even allowed to go there?"

"If John's with you, you can," Bro says, looking at you through his shades pensively. "Won't be comfortable for you or Dave, but you'll manage. He'll have to put you both under a protective spell."

"No offense, but the lad doesn't appear to be in any condition to be conscious and awake, much less casting spells on anybody," Jake says, eyeing the peacefully sleeping fairy doubtfully.

"Wish I could give him time, but you have to leave now, during the daytime, otherwise you won't be able to enter the land," Bro explains. "Better go now. And take your rocketboard. You won't have time to drive."

As usual, Bro's right.

You have to take your rocketboard just to make sure you get there before sunset. John is none too happy. Latula did mix up some hangover remedy involving a raw egg, coffee, and what looked like more liquor, but it doesn't seem to be doing much for your little fairy friend.

"Fuuuuuck, Dirk, can't you slow down?" you think John moans. Dave is cradling him carefully but tightly in his right hand, holding onto Jake with the other. Jake is holding onto you, and you're flying the rocketboard.

"Sorry, no can-do little man," you say back to him. "We have to get there before nightfall. Didn't cut my shower short for nothing."

"Not little—" John grumbles back.

Jake tilts his head to the side, and you can tell he's giving you a bemused _look_. "I like your hair," he says playfully.

"Shut up."

Fifteen minutes later, you see your destination in the distance. A large copse of trees that looks like it came straight out of Fern Gully springs out of the surrounding forest. They're mystical and nothing like the trees anywhere nearby. A translucent shimmering light surrounds the forest. You know from previous experience that the forest is invisible to normal people.

Luckily for you, you're not normal.

Unluckily for you, the forest hates you. Like, seriously _hate hates_ you.

You set the rocketboard down next to the entrance to the forest, handing it to Jake who stores it who knows where. Experimentally, you reach your hand out and barely graze the edge of the shimmering curtain of light with your fingertips.

Instantly, you yank you hand back in pain. "We're in the right spot."

_The Curtain_, as Bro likes to call it, is a strange protective field that envelops the entirety of the mystic forest. From what you've gathered, it's only passable during the daylight hours. At night, nothing can come in or out. The Curtain keeps the forest invisible to normal beings and impenetrable to undead or demonic beings such as yourself. This is where John comes into play.

"Time to work your magic," Dave says, bringing John to the edge of the forest.

"Time to work my wha—?" John asks, sitting up in Dave's hands and glaring blearily around, frowning at the bright sunlight overhead. It takes him a second to realize where you've taken him. When he does, he makes a noise that sounds a little like a dying gazelle. "What the FUCK are we doing here?!"

Dave winces at the volume, and even John clutches his head in pain from his own outburst. "Not a fan of your own stomping grounds?" your bro asks.

"Not when I'm—" John lowers his voice to a barely audible level and continues, "_hung-over as hell, I'm not! My DAD lives here. What if he sees me like this? He'll be so disappointed!_"

"Nothing can make your old man anything but proud of you," Dave reassures him. "If knowing that you're dating me didn't bother him, nothing will."

"Yeah, that," John mutters uneasily. You and Dave both catch his hesitation immediately.

Jake does not. "How fantastic it must be to have a father so approving of your interspecies relationship! Why, if my father were alive, I'm sure he would be positively displeased!" he exclaims with a wide happy grin.

You shoot Jake a "wtf?" glance because really. What the fuck?

"That's totally not what you were going to say," Dave says, eyeing his boyfriend sharply.

"Uhh no, it wasn't," John murmurs, casting his gaze away from Dave.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" Your little bro asks.

"No, I didn't," John replies quietly. Slowly, almost shamefully, he looks up at him. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Ugh, I'm too fucking hung-over for this shit, but I'm gonna woo your dad off his feet like nobody's business. Have all your little fairy relatives so impressed with this Strider they'll want to eat my shit like schoolgirls in a Japanese porno," Dave says, with just a tiny note of bitterness in his voice. John probably didn't catch it, but you did.

Your little bro's scared.

"Eww Dave, gross!" John groans.

"Whatever, let's just go in. You gonna be able to do that?" Dave asks.

John gulps, wobbling to his feet. "I can try." He shakes out his wings experimentally a couple times, then leaps off Dave's hand into the air. He's a little unsteady, but he seems to be ok.

John flits around you three, sprinkling you with something sparkly that makes Jake sneeze. You hear him lightly murmuring some words, but you can't understand any of it. And you shouldn't. Because he's speaking the language of the people who live in this forest.

The fey. John's people. The language is soft, and full of rounded hollow sounds. It slips off John's tongue like water, lilting lightly with each inflection.

When he's finished, John practically collapses onto Dave's shoulder. "Ok, that should do it. Try going in now."

Again, you tentatively reach out your hand to the curtain. This time, you're able to pass through. The holiness of the fey grounds leaves a ringing in your ears and a dull ache in the back of your head. Everything is so damned _bright here_. The trees are bright. The stupid little waterfalls are bright. The sun is bright.

You hate the fey land with every fiber of your incubus being. And in turn, the forest hates you.

But you're inside now, granted temporary permission by John. And so are Dave and Jake. Dave seems even less enthused to be here than you are. John looks petrified.

Jake is perfectly fine. "Are you ready to get going?! We have a monster to hunt!" With that, he spins around and actually fucking _skips away_.

Just what the fuck are you dating?

* * *

**Dirk: Explore the Fairy Land with Jake**

You explore all right. Jake leaves no nook or cranny unearthed. Jake's been holding your hand, dragging you this way and that like a ragdoll, but you can't say you mind. You're happy just to feel the warmth of his hand and the way his fingers lightly squeeze yours when he finds something exciting. You've decided that you love it when Jake is excited.

Despite what a "rip-snorting-fabulous-time" he's been claiming to have, Jake seems a little disappointed.

"What's wrong, English?" you ask.

Jake frowns. "It's just—no matter where I look, I haven't seen hide nor hair of any fey!"

John giggles softly. When you all glance at him in question, he explains, "that's because they can't be seen by outsiders if they don't want to! Most of us are very private beings. Would you want a giant to peek into your home and see you taking a shower?"

Jake debates it for longer than is really necessary before admitting, "I'd suppose not."

"So you planning on filling us in soon?" Dave asks. "What'd we have to do today?"

"We have to take down a banshee," you explain.

Dave throws you a questioning glance. "Don't those only come out at night?"

"Yup," you agree.

"Then what are we supposed to do all day?" Dave groans.

"I don't know. Maybe work on getting all John's relatives to eat your shit?" you suggest. "They've probably been watching us all day."

Dave tenses and quickly glances to his shoulder where John is care-freely swinging his feet to and fro. "That true?"

John shrugs. "None my relatives have been around. Dad's the only one you have to worry about anyway."

"Better question, why is _Jake _leading us around?" Dave asks.

"Because your boyfriend's so hung over he can't get off your shoulder," you respond. "And besides, Jake has more enthusiasm than all of us combined."

"Do I!" Jake beams happily.

"And if we just keep walking straight forward, we'll get there," John murmurs, flopping back down on Dave's shoulder.

"Point taken," your bro sighs.

A couple hours later, the sun is beginning to wane on the horizon. You can only tell because the light filtering through the thick canopy of tree leaves above is beginning to grow dimmer. It's around this time that you finally break through the trees to the large lake in the center of the pixie land.

You can't see them, but you can sense that the air is rife with the fey. The blue water of the lake is crystal clear, and you can easily see beautiful rainbow colored fish swimming below its surface. The lake itself seems to give off a mystic glow.

You stop in your tracks. Here. Somehow you know, your target will appear here.

John looks up and immediately makes a small squeaking gasp. Quickly, he flies off Dave's shoulder and hovers in the air a few feet away. "Hey guys! Oh, no reason. Yeah they're cool!"

You glance at your bro's fairy boyfriend. He's talking to the empty air in front of him.

"They are, but they wouldn't do that!" John cries. "Well, maybe. Is it—" John lowers his voice. "_Is it really that obvious?_"

Dave looks at John. He looks at you. You shrug back at him.

"Noooo! You can't do that! Don't tell!" John whines. "Seriously, I'll never talk to you again if you do!"

Jake leans in closer to you and murmurs, "has the lad lost his marbles?"

You shake your head. "No. Remember all those fairies you were looking for earlier?" you ask.

Jake nods, still transfixed by John talking to nothing.

"They're all over. I can sense them," you murmur. "John's probably talking to some friends."

It's true. For a moment, you close your eyes and allow yourself to observe the lakeside clearing with your incubus senses, and you can _feel_ their presence all around you. You can feel their carefree nature, their joy to see John again.

But you can also feel their fear. They're apprehensive around you, and with good reason. But there's something else that's making them afraid.

"Inside? Why?" John asks, concern in his voice now. "Oh, no, we're here to get rid of the banshee!"

The atmosphere suddenly grows tense. Even though you can't see them, you can feel that all the fairies are panicking, just from hearing the name. As the sun continues to disappear, John seems to grow even more determined than before. "Don't worry guys! We'll get rid of her!" he says with conviction.

John flies back to you, still clearly hung-over, but happiness in his eyes. "Those were my friends! Sorry, they're a little scared around strangers. They don't like showing themselves to just anybody."

"It's ok, they'd probably just fall all over this sexy Strider anyway if I got to talk to them. It'd be like candy canes at Christmas time and I'd be the sexiest Santa handing out all the presents and—" Dave's ramble is cut short as John presses both of his hands firmly to his lips.

"Shoosh you!" John says, though you can hear the laughter in his voice. "My dad's probably around here somewhere."

The sun finally disappears below the horizon, and like flipping a switch, the lake changes. An eerie fog rises from the once clear waters, and the fey land is filled with the apprehension of its inhabitants.

It isn't long before a terrible wailing permeates the air, echoing off the lake and trees. It reminds you of the sirens of an emergency vehicle, only the wailing never seems to stop. A cold wind begins to swirl around you. Jake actually shivers from the frigid breeze.

"I'd wager our banshee is nearby," Jake murmurs, frowning at the fog.

No sooner does he say that then the screeching crescendos to a terrible volume. An abysmal apparition materializes from the fog, one of tattered robes, long white hair, deformed limbs ending in terrifying claws, and calculating white eyes. The banshee whisks your way with her mouth wide open, a sharp screech growing even louder.

You all manage to dodge out of the way as she swoops right between you, her claws catching the ends of Jake's shirt and ripping the fabric with sharp precision. Jake frowns. "I say, that was entirely uncalled for!"

As the Banshee turns around, narrowing her eyes vindictively, Jake stands firmly in place. The spindly ends of her robes billow out behind her, and her wail is louder than ever. The mist pours violently from all around her as she comes straight for Jake again.

What the fuck is Jake doing?

He's certainly not moving. If anything, he's just glaring even harder at her, an odd determination in his eyes that somehow frightens and draws you to him at the same time. In an odd movement, he opens his arms to the Banshee, inviting her to him.

"JAKE!" you shout. "Get the fuck out of there!"

"It's all right, Dirk," he responds, but doesn't offer any more explanation. He doesn't even glance your way.

Oh fuck, is Jake trying to get himself killed? But Jake doesn't seem suicidal to you. So why is he doing this? What could possibly be his reasoning? What are you supposed to do?

He must have something in mind. He _seems_ to know what he's doing, but let's face it, this is _Jake_ you're talking about. You love the man, but even you have to admit that he's not the sharpest crayon in the box. What if he doesn't realize what he's doing? What if he dies?

You don't know if you could live with yourself if you let him die.

You're finding yourself left with more questions than answers and very little time to ponder the answer to any of them. You don't have time to think about it. All you have time to do is react.

Your feet are moving before you realize it, flash-stepping you over to Jake. As usual when you flash-step, the world slows around you, and you watch as Jake sluggishly blinks. He flicks his gaze at you, his expression ever so gradually becoming more surprised.

And then your hands come into your view. What are you doing? Oh. You're pushing him out of the way.

Oh fuck. You've seen these movies. You know what happens next.

It never ends well for the person pushing the other one out of the way.

But it's a little too late to be thinking about that now, isn't it? You can't stop momentum. And really, you're not sure if you would want to. You love Jake too much to lose him. Your feet are already in motion, your hands clasping the coarse fabric of his green jacket.

With a final burst of speed, you shove him out of the way.

An instant later, the banshee is on you. Literally, _on_ you. You feel her icy noncorporeal body pass through your own. When she shrieks inside you, your body feels like it's going to burst apart from the resonating pain. You feel her torment. You feel her agony.

You feel her sadness.

And suddenly, you realize what Jake was trying to do.

The banshee passes through you, her wail bursting from the walls of your body in a feat of physics that you would love to explore were you not in this exact situation. As the creature wails, drifting to the far side of the lake, you turn to Jake.

You're completely unharmed, and so is he. In fact, Jake is blinking at you, a slow look of realization dawning on his face. He must have just registered what you did. "Dirk, you didn't have to—" he murmurs.

"I know that now," you agree, keeping an eye on the banshee as she begins circling the lake. "When she passed through me, I could feel her. She wasn't vindictive, spiteful, or even a bit angry. She was lonely."

"Of course she is lonely!" Jake says, tossing his hands in the air in exasperation. "Had you informed me of our opponent, I could have filled you in! Banshees are not violent creatures. Rarely do they show themselves, and when they do, it's often to mourn the passing of the dead."

"That's nice, but how do we kill her?" John asks, flying up to you from wherever he was hiding.

Jake shakes his head. "We can't kill her. She's already dead. All we can do is try to show her that she's loved and help her move onto the next realm."

"And we do that how?" you ask.

Jake flashes you a bright smile, one that makes your heart melt a little. You somehow know that you can trust him on this. Whatever he's going to do, you know he's right. "Like this."

As the banshee finishes her circle and comes your way again, Jake turns to face her. Once again, his face is set with determination, and he spreads his arms out in invitation.

You watch as the ephemeral creature drifts instinctively to Jake, her tattered rags flitting behind her, translucent and peppered with holes, like a moth-eaten mourning shroud. The mist scatters from around her, and her wailing reaches an almost unbearable pitch as she crashes into Jake.

It happens in the matter of mere moments. You feel so helpless as all you can do is _watch_ your boyfriend tenderly wrap his arms around the specter. He whispers something to her that you can't hear over her cries.

Seconds later, she's vanishes into the mist.

Like the last mournful notes of a dirge, her wails fade away. And ever so slowly, the mist recedes back into the lake. Jake is left standing alone, a soft sad smile on his face as he stares at his hands. It takes him a couple moments, but finally he turns to you and says, "It's done. She won't bother anyone ever again."

One by one, lights begin to appear around the lake. It takes you a moment to realize that behind each light is a beating heart. A fairy.

They're showing themselves to you, and holy hell, there are _thousands _of them. As the lights appear, they provide a soft glow to the area, allowing you to clearly see everything around you. The grass, the lake, the trees, and all the moss covered homes of the pixies.

Despite the massive number of pixies, only one dares to approach you. With a light "bampf" sound, he is suddenly standing at about your height beside you. His wings are a regal blue hue, matching his eyes. He's dressed in formal flowing blue pixie garments. Atop his head of dark hair, a crown is placed meticulously and carefully. He pulls a pipe from his mouth and eyes you all fondly. In a rich tenor voice he says, "thank you."

Even Jake seems to realize that this is their king. He bows courteously to him and replies, "it was our pleasure to aide you and your people. Thank you for graciously allowing us into your land."

"Oh, I had nothing to do with that. I think you have someone else to thank," he looks past Jake to where John is fluttering awkwardly in the air between the king and Dave. The fairy king smiles warmly and holds his hands out invitingly. "I am so proud of you, son."

Son? You glance critically between the two of them and realize that, yes, there does seem to be a strong family resemblance. You flick your gaze over to Dave, who seems to be trying harder than ever not to show any emotion. Clearly, Dave had no idea either.

John throws an apologetic look in Dave's direction, then sighs and lands in his father's hands. He rolls his eyes and murmurs, "daaaaad, you're going to embarrass me!"

"Why shouldn't I be proud? You've managed to cast a very complex spell to grant passage into our homeland, and you helped rid our people of the terrible banshee," he gives John a silly lop-sided smile. "Some day, you'll be the most powerful fairy in the land. Your mother would be proud too."

"Aww dad thanks," John finally smiles back, a look of exasperation on his face. "But please don't say any more embarrassing things! My friends are here."

"Why so they are. And I insist that they all stay the night," the fairy king says. "It is impossible to pass the barrier until the morning, in any event."

You find that it's a little hard to say no to the king of the fairies. And so you find yourselves being accosted with pixie dust and shrunken down to pixie size so that you can stay in the king's palace.

Being pixie sized isn't too different from being normal sized, you think. The trees are taller, and the smell of the earth is a bit stronger, since you're closer to the ground. The biggest difference is John. You're not used to seeing him almost eye to eye. Kid's still a little shorter than you.

You realize just how impossible John's hair truly is. You've heard your little bro ramble on about it before, but you never bothered to look that closely at his gravity-defying locks. Clearly, combs are his enemy. John's face is soft and damn, Dave wasn't kidding, his eyes are the bluest _blue_.

But you still have no interest in screwing him. Whew. Your radar is safe.

You know that your little bro is fucking ecstatic. You're 100% positive that it's taking every bit of his willpower not to tackle John to the floor right now and make out with him.

You'll give him shit for it later. For now, you have a magical fairy castle to explore. Rose would be so envious.

The king's palace is a sight to behold. Wrought from stone and wood, it feels reminiscent of the ancient castles of lore. The air is temperate and pleasant, and a light breeze drifts in through the open windows. The stone halls are long, lined with rich blue runners, and intricate metallic chandeliers hang from the ceilings high overhead. You find it somewhat amusing that despite its enormity, standing at your usual height, you are normally taller than the castle.

The king insists that you join him for dinner. The feast is nothing short of spectacular. You only recognize the mallow fruit cheeses, dogwood fruit pears, and saffron cakes from stories and books. The table is filled with several other foods, and you honestly have no idea what you're eating. You send a silent prayer to whatever deity exists that none of the food is holy. All the food is sweet and filled with an exotic flavor you've never tasted before. You bet Jane would kill to try this cooking.

In the corner of the room, a small group of fairy minstrels play unfamiliar songs on the violin, flute, and small wooden drums. Occasionally one of the group sings a beautiful enchanting melody in the fairy tongue. You have no idea what they're saying, but the harmonies are wrought in patterns of mathematics that you never would have imagined placing together. You find yourself spending longer than you should just trying to figure their harmonic formulas out.

The dining room is large, with elaborate decorative tapestries hanging from the walls. The tapestries are ethereal, shimmering and shifting. It makes no logical sense and quite honestly, it unsettles you a little bit. But you decide to ignore the bizarre fairy food, music, and creations and focus instead on John's father, who is currently asking you a question.

"So how long have you known my son?" he asks in a very pleasant yet somehow authoritative voice.

"Since he joined us, about five years ago," you reply.

"Has he been a good boy?" the king asks.

"Daaad!" John moans, rolling his eyes. "Remember what I said about embarrassing questions?"

"I remember," John's father says, a small smirk playing at his lips. He turns back to you. "So has he been a good boy?"

"_DAAAAAD!_" John groans, falling back in his seat.

"John's been a very valuable asset. He saved all our lives a few months ago when we fought the demon Damara," you respond.

"Did he?" the fairy king beams at John happily. "I'm so proud of you, son."

"Thanks dad," John's response is small and muffled behind his clothing. He's currently slouched down in the seat, hiding in embarrassment.

"My, it's been quite some time since I've had a good dogwood pear. Your cooking is simply smashing!" Jake exclaims, cutting into his third pear of the evening.

That was random. You glance at Jake, ready to tell him off, but he looks so content and happy with his pear that you can't find it in yourself to make even the smallest cutting remark. So instead, you're happy just to watch him.

It isn't until you hear a snort from Dave's direction that you realize you're staring. Like he has any room to talk. Dave's been staring at John all evening.

The rest of dinner goes by passably well. John's father makes idle conversation with all of you, and you finish up the meal without event. Dave looks increasingly uncomfortable as time passes, but you doubt anyone else can tell.

If there's one thing Bro taught you both well, it was how to maintain the best poker face in the worst situations. Like meeting your boyfriend's father for the first time who happens to be the king of the fairies.

After dinner, you're shown to your rooms for the evening. The guest room that you're sharing with Jake is cozy. The handmade wooden dresser, wash basin, and desk are quaint yet elegant. A large fluffy plush bed sits in the middle just pleading you to use it. Jake just fed your inner incubus yesterday, and you're still doing all right. But you are still looking forward to sharing that bed with him.

Soon, bed. Soon.

First, you want to make sure everything is ok with your bro. As Jake is washing up for the evening, you slip out of your room and stealthily make your way down the hall.

It doesn't take long for you to find John and his father talking in the library. You only get a glimpse of them sitting across from each other in chairs before you duck back into the hallway. Dave suddenly flash-steps beside you. You glance at him inquiringly, to which he merely shrugs.

"You seem to be getting along well with those other hunters," John's father remarks.

"Yeah, they're pretty cool," John admits.

"And the one in red. Dave, was that his name? He's your partner, correct?" the king asks.

John hesitates for a moment before stammering, "yeah, yeah he is."

A few moments pass by in uncomfortable silence. You cast your gaze again at Dave, and this time, he looks positively frightened. His face is tense, and the muscles of his neck are taut with tension.

Eventually, John's father says, "you know, son, no matter what you say, nothing can change how proud I am of you. You will always be my son, and I'll always love you."

In a quiet voice, John murmurs, "you know already, don't you? About me and Dave?"

"He may wear those sunglasses all day and night, but I see how he looks at you," the king responds. "I see how much he loves you. And how much you love him."

You hear John squirm in his seat. "You're not disappointed are you?"

"Disappointed? I could never be disappointed in you. Son, I can't pretend to know what it feels like to love someone like him. You know what I mean. I know that it must not be easy, but you've never been one to take the easy way out. You've always fought and given it your all," the king says. There's a rustling, and you think he's probably risen from his chair. Another rustling is probably John getting up too. "The only sadness I have is that this will be difficult for you. I love you, son. And I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're not afraid to love who you love."

"Dad—" John murmurs. His voice is wavering, and you know he's probably crying. You hear the rustling of fabric and know that the two are probably embracing.

You chance a glance over at Dave and murmur, "and you were worried."

"Better fucking believe I was," he mutters back. "You're lucky Jake doesn't have any parents."

You're actually not so sure how true that statement is. Jake said himself that his father was no longer around. Does he have a mother? You suppose like everything else, he will tell you in time.

You hear footsteps moving towards the door, and in an invisible flash of speed, both you and Dave are gone back to your respective rooms. John squeals in a quiet but excited voice as he passes by your room, "Dave! _Dave!_ Guess what?!" He throws Dave's door open and shuts it behind him.

You're pretty sure you know where things are going from here. You won't be visiting your little bro's room tonight.

Jake is waiting for you when you get back. He's—oh fucking hell. He's practically _naked_ on the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. Today it's green aliens. He's reading a book and waiting for you. When he hears you enter, he glances up with a bright smile. "You know, these fairy books don't make a lick of sense!"

"That's because they're written in the ancient fairy language," you explain.

Jake shakes his head. "No, no it's not that. I can read it. It just doesn't make any sense! Why haven't any of these children's stories been made into movies? They have such fantastic plots! I'm certain they would be smashing hits in the box office!"

You sift through Jake's ridiculous thought process to the important nugget of what he just said. "Wait. You can read this?"

He blinks at your in earnest. "Certainly! Can't you?"

"No, I can't," you respond slowly.

Holy fucking hell. Jake English can do something you can't do. But how is that even possible? This language is easily over a millennia old. You think maybe Bro knows how to read it? But Jake? Why would _Jake_ know how?

So you ask him. "Jake, how do you know the fairy language?"

"Well, it was the common tongue at one point," Jake explains, as if it were the most obvious thing in the whole world. He chews his lower lip in thought for a moment before continuing, "It wasn't until the fey were threatened by the war between mortals and supernatural beings that they chose to seclude themselves into obscurity."

It takes you all of .5 seconds to process what that really means.

Jake is old. Way older than you.

You never would have imagined it. Jake, your dorky bumbling boyfriend, who has no sense of up from down half of the time—how could he possibly be so much older than you? That war took place over a thousand years ago. And while you were _technically_ alive at that point, Bro put you and Dave to sleep for centuries after that. But that story is long and complicated, and you aren't going to let it distract you right now.

You take quite some time mentally debating asking the question. In the end, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you finally ask, "Jake, how old are you?"

Jake laughs lightly, and the smile lingers on his face as he says, "Oh, I've been around forever, Dirk."

That wasn't exactly an answer. You're really not sure how to take that.

Your silence speaks for you, and Jake's laughter transforms quickly into sympathy. He casts you a pitying glance and says, "don't feel bad, old chap. I can teach you the fairy language if you'd like!"

Good old Jake. Always assuming the wrong meaning.

You don't say anything, and he continues, "It's not too bad once you work past the horrendous vernacular. Here, I can show you a thing or two."

And so you sit next to your mostly naked boyfriend as he teaches you more than a thing or two about the fairy language. You lean comfortably into him, watching in earnest as he excitedly points out familiar pixie symbols. Jake's right, the language is wordy but not too difficult to pick up.

When Jake has had his fill of teaching you the ancient language, he tosses the book aside onto the floor. You both scoot underneath the covers, and you don't hesitate to collect him into your arms. Jake laughs a bit at the gesture but leans fondly into your embrace.

"Dirk, that thing you did back there earlier," Jake says softly, unexpectedly.

"Hmm?" You hum back lightly, trying to think of what "thing" Jake is talking about.

"When you pushed me out of the way of the banshee," he clarifies. Lightly, he runs his fingertips along your chest, tracing circles and other soft shapes in your skin. "You did that to save me, didn't you?"

"I can't lose you, Jake," you murmur back, drawing him to you closer, embracing him tighter.

He returns the hug and rests his head on your chest, sighing softly. You can feel how content he is right now. His happiness. His love.

Wait. Love?

You check again, and sure enough, there is a warmth blooming in his heart that you never noticed before. It's small, barely a candle in the vast sea of Jake, but it's there.

Safe in the darkness of the room, you smile and silently vow never to let that flame go out.

* * *

**LateNiteSlacker's Notes:**

Happy Holidays one and all! I've broken my Update Thursday rule to bring you this a couple days fashionably late. Hope you enjoyed! This is *gasp* the last chapter of the year! The next chapter will be here in the new year!

Btw, I have a tumblr, if anyone here does that. The link is in my profile. There just might be a couple mediocre sketches of Fairy John up there, but I caution, I am not an artist. Viewer beware.


	10. The Never-Ending Bath Scene

**Chapter 10: The Never-ending Bath Scene**

* * *

**Dirk: Mack on Jake**

He's still sleeping. Don't you think that's a little creepy? Yeah, you do.

You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache. Glaring blearily around the room, you realize exactly why.

You're still in the fucking fairy forest.

Jake is sound asleep next to you, and he doesn't even move when you stealthily extricate yourself from the bed. You take a few minutes to wash up as best you can before throwing on the same clothes you were wearing before (gross in your opinion) and make your way out the door.

You're in search for a shower, bath, or even an extremely public lake to bathe in when you run into Dave. Quite literally.

Your little bro actually winces a little bit when he crashes into you after rounding a corner. You notice the disheveled state of his hair and raise an eyebrow. "Looking for a shower too?"

He nods and mutters, "it's like the fucking Labyrinth in here, and David Bowie is making me his little bitch holding a shower hostage instead of a little brother. Whatever, I don't trust a guy that stuffs a cucumber down his pants anyway."

You smirk back and point out, "he claims he didn't."

"Yeah whatever, like I believe that. I've seen enough dicks to know when someone's full of shit," Dave mutters. It looks like he's tempted to say more, but for once he somehow miraculously holds his tongue. Instead, he asks, "don't suppose you know which way to go?"

You really don't, but you're not about to tell Dave that. Instead, you jerk your head to the left and say, "this way."

As you're walking down the corridors of the palace, you notice something that makes you mentally pause in interest. It's so minor a detail that you doubt anyone else would even notice, but Dave has been your brother for a very long time. Nothing gets by you.

Dave's limping.

You find it interesting, considering incubi heal very quickly. Especially when they've been fed. And you have a pretty good feeling that John didn't hesitate to show Dave his affections last night. You quirk an eyebrow at him and ask, "rough night?"

Dave grumbles, "you're just as bad as Bro."

"Just lookin' out for ya, lil' man," you respond, letting a bit of your accent bleed into your words. When it's just you and Dave, sometimes you don't bother to hide it. It's not like Dave doesn't know you lived in Texas for a while. He lived there too.

Dave sighs and shakes his head. He pauses in the middle of the hallway. When you stop and turn to face him, he leans in a little closer to you, lowers his voice, and mutters, "John's—he's got—he's holy? And when he finished, I didn't heal up like usual? I don't fucking know!"

You're stricken. It takes all of your Strider skill not to bust out laughing. You know that you should be pitying your dear brother, but you can't help the tiny smirk that comes to your lips.

Dave notices immediately, of course, and he shoves you away. "Oh fuck you! Like I chose to—"

"Dave," you say, quieting his rant. "Sorry dude, it's just kind of funny. You've gotta admit that."

"It is _not_ funny," Dave growls back.

"Yeah, ok, if I were in your shoes I wouldn't think it was funny either," you admit. "But you don't look that worse for wear. Does it hurt?"

"Just a little," he murmurs. "Is this what regular humans feel like every time? Fuck, it must suck for them."

You shrug and offer, "some are better at accommodating than others. You know that." You pause for a moment, gazing critically at Dave. "And some are just hung better."

The light flush that comes to his already too-pale cheeks is all the answer you need. But it does help that he insistently stammers, "fuck you, man."

You decide to have pity on your little bro and instead settle for patting his shoulder and walking away. "Let's find you a shower."

"Thought you knew where you were going?" Dave mutters, still sounding a little bitter.

"I do."

You don't.

About five minutes later, you find yourselves outside in a secluded little glen. A small pool of clear water is surrounded by trees. Next to the side of the pool, there are sponges, buckets, and towels that clearly mark this particular pool as a bathing pool. Oh, and even if it wasn't a bathing pool, there's one other little thing that would make you want to bathe here anyway.

Jake's already there.

"Good day, old chaps!" he shouts jovially, waving from where he's standing in the middle of the pool. "I say, the water is quite crisp! Care to join me?"

You and Dave both share a glance. Your little bro shrugs and mutters, "he's _your_ boyfriend."

At one point in time, you probably had both shame and humility. But given your incubus nature, both are long gone. Screwing thousands of people will help a person get over that. So, you don't really care if a billion fairies are watching you or not, and you don't hesitate to shrug off your clothes in the broad daylight. You even leave your shades in the small clothing pile, noticing that Jake left his glasses aside too.

You kind of forget Dave's even there and focus on joining Jake in the water that is indeed quite "crisp."

It's nice having nothing between your eyes and his. You can see his deep emerald hue much better this way. And though you will love Jake no matter what he wears, you do think he's quite handsome ditching the glasses. Part of you knows that you'll have to be very careful not to inadvertently place him under your suggestion, but that's a risk you are willing to take.

"How'd you beat us out here?" You ask, wrapping your arms around Jake and leaning in, touching your forehead to his.

You feel it instantly. His happiness and love. You feel a warmth mirroring his in your own chest, ecstatic yourself that his love is still there. It didn't go out overnight. You're helpless to stop the happy grin that spreads across your lips.

Jake smiles, embracing you back. You feel the bar of soap that he brought out with him on your back, and you wonder if the pixies are going to throw a fit or not. Whatever, you've had to deal with their spiteful forest, they can deal with a little soap. "Didn't you look out the window in the room? It leads right out here!" He says, pointing up to a window quite high up.

"You jumped?"

"Well, I thought I'd give your rocket-board a whirl. I still have that. Err-_had_ that," he admits, glancing aside very suspiciously.

"Jaaaaaake—" the way you trail his name makes him flinch a little bit. "What happened to my rocketboard?"

"It might have disappeared into the trees that way and dumped me into this lake?" he explains. "Sorry if I broke it."

You want to give him a hard time, because that guilty face he's making is so adorable. But you also don't want to make Jake feel bad. So instead, you shrug and answer honestly, "I'll just fix it."

Jake seems somewhat relieved by that answer, and his grip loosens on you, his hands slipping down lower on your back. You hum lightly at the feeling of his bare skin against yours, loving the feeling of his honest joy as you taste his energy just a bit. He's so simple, so warm, so happy. How the hell is he so much older than you?

"Ugh. Little brother? Right here? If you're gonna get your mack on, could you at least wait until I'm gone?" Dave asks, splashing some water over at you from where he's bathing on the complete opposite side of the pool. "Talk about awkward."

You're inclined to ignore him and keep sampling Jake's delicious energy, but your boyfriend has far more shame than you. His cheeks flush after Dave's comment, and he hastily pulls away from you. "I-I suppose we should focus on the bathing we came here to do!" he stammers, returning to vigorously scrubbing beneath his arms with the bar of soap.

Swiftly, you catch his wrist, and snatch the soap out of his hand. When he glances at you in question, you give him a fond look and say, "allow me."

Slowly, sensually, you begin sliding the soap along Jake's skin. You start at his left shoulder, rubbing circles with both the soap and your fingers. You allow your fingertips to dance across his skin, especially the sensitive place at the crook of his neck that makes him gasp. As you run the soap down his arm, you massage little circles into his muscles, appreciating his lean strength. Ghosting your fingers along the underside of his arm makes him flinch ever so slightly, and his energy prickles with a light sensation of—ticklishness? You smirk, you'll have to remember that for later.

You lightly pull at each of his fingers, taking care to wash clean the dirt that has caked beneath his nails from exploring the forest yesterday. Then you move on to his chest, feeling the warmth of his beating heart beneath his skin. It may be your imagination, but you feel like the gentle fire of his love is stronger here. Before soaping it, you place a kiss atop his chest where his heart lays.

Jake sighs softly, bringing his hand to your cheek. His hand still has soap on it, but you don't mind. You have plans for Jake, and a little soap isn't going to hurt anything. If anything, it's going to help.

His abdomen is next. While his chest didn't sport all that much hair, the trail leading from his navel to his dick is dense with thick dark hair. He flinches when you twist your fingers through the trail. Again? Lucky you. Looks like Jake is ticklish in more than one place.

You finish washing his other arm and move on to his back. The muscles beneath his skin are bulky and tight. You remember hearing once that this means he's holding his tension in his back. But what tension could he be holding?

You have no idea. What could possibly be bothering your carefree boyfriend? He never seems to be upset by anything.

The way you see it, he only has two possible stressors in his life: his work and you. But Jake loves the work you do. The more dangerous, the more "exciting" it is to him. The more arduous, the more "fun" he sees it.

You suppose that _you_ could be the thing that's stressing him, but Jesus fucking Christ, you just started dating a week ago. Aside from your little tryst a couple nights ago, and the occasional kiss here and there, it isn't as if your relationship even changed much after becoming boyfriends.

You could be wrong about it, though you're 95% certain you aren't, but you don't think that you are the thing stressing Jake.

Whatever it is, Jake must not have told you about it yet. It's the only conclusion that makes sense.

Though you're worried about him, you don't want Jake to catch on. So, you don't stop sweeping the bar of soap across his back as you think all of these things, working your fingers around his skin, instinctively rubbing at the tense knots that have you concerned.

You decide not to fret about what you can't control. Jake will tell you eventually.

So, you move along, dipping the soap below the water level and dragging it slowly across his nice ass. Fuck do you love his ass. You can't resist squeezing his left cheek after soaping it up, making Jake squeak a bit in surprise.

You're vaguely aware of Dave splashing frantically to get out of the pool, and good riddance. Internally, you smirk. Now you can do things you might not have done in front of him.

Jake gasps as you dip the soap between his legs, rubbing it along his inner thigh. "I don't suppose I could convince you to let me wash these parts myself, could I?" he asks softly.

"Mm-mm," you hum in the negative. The sounds that catch in the back of Jake's throat as you gently trace your fingers along his skin are too tempting to resist.

You decide it's time to up the ante. Lightly, you press a kiss into the back of Jake's neck, and the soft gasp that catches in his throat makes you struggle to keep your own self control. You want to _grab him_, and _take him, _and _consume his very soul_.

You are so glad that Jake can't see your eyes right now, because you know it will be hard to stop yourself from suggesting more at this point. Instead, you dip your head below the surface of the water, and move on to wash his lower half.

Thankfully, you don't have to worry about breathing. You slide the bar down Jake's outer thighs first, then move down to his feet. Jake causes you to grin as he wiggles his toes uncomfortably when you wash the bottom of his feet. As you rub the soap along the backs of his legs, you smirk again, noting that muscles in his legs tense when you touch the area just behind his knees.

Ticklish data stored for later.

You move to Jake's inner thighs, approaching the dense tangle of hair between his legs and your prize within it several times only to back away. You think Jake's saying something, but you can't really tell what it is from under the water.

But you can sense him. You can feel his steadily growing frustration, and you can see the evidence of his want growing between his legs. Impatient as always, Jake begins to steadily lean into your touches, not so stealthily moving his dick closer to your hands when you approach it with the soap.

But every time, you back down. And every time, you feel the need building within him.

Such a fucking tease. That's you.

And then you remember something. Jake and public displays of affection don't really mix. You're certain that there must be fairies all around by this time of the day, so why is Jake so willing?

What if he isn't? What if it's actually _you_ that wants this? _You _that placed the suggestion in his head?

Your hands pause in their work as you think about it, letting go of Jake's legs. Almost instantly, Jake's hands plunge beneath the surface of the water, grasp yours, and place them back on his skin.

Aggressive, isn't he? You love it. It fuels a delicious fire of want inside you, and you're certain you've never wanted to fuck someone as much as you want to fuck Jake English. Or have him fuck you. You honestly don't care.

Because with anyone else, you know exactly what you would do. You would tease him until he begged you for release, then you would fuck him, drink his life's energy, and wipe away his memories, leaving him with nothing to remember you by in the morning. You would use him but keep his heart intact, leaving only yours to sink deeper into the dark depths of loneliness.

But this isn't anyone else. This is Jake. You love him and aren't about to hurt him with the darkness inside you.

Your mind made up, you surface, letting the water splash behind you. You quickly run both hands through your hair, slicking it back out of your eyes so that you can see Jake. _Really_ see Jake.

"I thought you didn't need to breathe?" Jake asks, sounding a little impatient.

"I don't. Chill. I just need to ask you something," you say. You watch his bright green eyes for any sign of doubt, being careful not to leave any of your own influence as you ask, "do you really want this Jake?"

Jake stares at you, a frown slowly forming on his lips. "What are you going on about now?"

That's right. This is _Jake_ you're talking to. Better be a little more blunt. "Do you want me to suck your dick? Do you want sex? We're in the middle of the fucking fairy forest. In a magic bathing pool. Probably surrounded by little voyeur fairies just waiting to get a glimpse of this hot bod, and I'll have to tell them sorry, this is all Jake's."

Jake laughs, pressing his hands to your chest. He's warm. He's genuine. He's happy. "Stop stop! You're starting to sound like your brother! The Dave brother!"

"Little shit learned from the best," you agree. "But seriously, Jake, I don't want to push anything on you that you don't want. You know that."

Jake sighs, almost in exasperation this time. "Yes, I know that. Would it help if I did this?"

He does something you really aren't expecting next. He takes your hands, and places them on top of his rock hard dick. "Dirk, I want this. I want you to touch me. I want to fuck you."

"That escalated quickly," you murmur.

"Dirk, you've been cockteasing me for fifteen minutes already!" Jake growls back in a way that definitely does not go straight to your dick.

Oh who are you kidding? It went straight to your dick. Still, you manage to chuckle and say, "fifteen minutes? Baby, that ain't nothing."

You would have said more, but Jake shuts you up rather quickly, leaning the extra few inches forward and bringing your lips together. His kiss is sweet, but it's also needy. His lips meld to yours and if you didn't know better, you would think _he _was trying to pull the life-force from _you. _ It's hot, and you love it. You can feel Jake's anticipation of what's to come on his tongue.

Heh. Come on his tongue? Not any time soon, you don't think.

Jake digs his fingernails into your back, pulling you closer to him. He gasps lightly when your dicks finally make contact.

Oh, hello boner. Didn't realize you were there. But since you are…

You decide that Jake must want this. It's not your influence this time. So you waste no time grabbing his fine rump and pulling him to you, grinding your hardness to his. He catches the sound of a cry in the back of his throat this time, not quite fully letting it go. Internally, you frown. You'll have none of that.

So you let your hands drift a little higher, up to his waist. Then you pull him casually over to the side of the pool. One last time, you murmur, "you're sure you don't mind voyeur fairies?"

"Ballocks Dirk! Which of us is the incubus?" he asks, sealing the deal.

You lean back against the edge of the bathing pool. It's earthen and soft, but somehow the fairies have worked magic into it so that none of the dirt comes off on your skin or dirties the pool. For once, you're a little grateful you're in the fairy forest.

Jake is quick to lean into you, his dense muscular frame draped over you and his lips again on yours. Making out with Jake just might be one of the best things ever. In every touch, you feel his growing elation, his delight, and his raw _need._ It's a need you crave to satisfy, and you'll let him take you as soon as he seems to be ready.

Jake whines a bit in the back of his throat again, grinding his dick into yours. You immediately thrust back up, creating more deliciously warm friction. It's difficult to find purchase in this pool, but against the side, and with Jake pressed so tightly against you, you can easily feel every dip and ridge in his body. Every muscle. Every time part of his warm skin brushes against yours.

For several minutes, it's an all out grinding, kissing, and making out war. You find yourself pushed back farther and farther against the bank of the pool until you're left with no direction to go except _Jake_. And yes, you've decided that Jake is definitely a direction.

So you move toward Jake, letting your hands roam free across his skin, your fingernails digging into places that make him hiss and raking through his hair in ways that make him moan softly with pleasure. Jake finally fixes his gaze on you, and you can tell from the look in his brilliant green eyes that he wants you.

Jake's ready. And he wants you. He wants you _badly_.

At some point, Jake discarded the soap along the side of the pool. You are quick to snatch it up. Coating a few fingers in the slippery substance, you are quick to prepare yourself. Not so much because you need the preparation. One benefit of being an incubus is your "ability" (you use that term loosely here) to not need much or any preparation for sex. After all, what self-appreciating incubus isn't ready to romp 100% of the time?

Really, it's more for Jake's comfort that you slide three then four fingers in and out of yourself. You don't waste much time with it, and as you slick just a bit more soap inside yourself, you smirk at him and ask, "you know how this works?"

"I think I have an idea," he murmurs, his lust-laden eyes on your fingers as they work you.

"Good, explaining things is so awkward," you mutter back. Then, you lean back against the bank and use your arms to pull yourself out of the water. By some stroke of luck, the bank of the pool is about the same height as his dick. Your ass and his line up perfectly. Win.

You heave an exaggerated sigh, tossing your hair aside all for show, and slide your feet to each side, giving him a generous view of yourself.

And all Jake does is stare. His mouth opens slightly. He seems transfixed. You really _really_ hope it's in a good way, but you aren't going to get your hopes up.

You frown slightly. "Dude, don't tell me you're getting cold feet now," you murmur.

"N-no! Not at all, old chap!" he stammers, his gaze finally falling to your eyes. "I've just—never been with a man before."

Oh no. That's right. You're Jake's first boyfriend. What if he—

Before you can even think farther, Jake smiles shyly at you. Softly, he says, "you're beautiful."

Had anyone else said that, you would have left right there. Your hunger be damned. You would have stood up, gracefully given him the bird, and walked away without a word.

But when Jake says it, your heart melts. You can feel his sincerity, see the earnestness behind his eyes, and sense his happiness and elation to be with _you_.

You. Nobody else. _You._

You've never been happier in your entire fucking life. And when Jake finally moves forward, slowly, cautiously lining himself up with you, that happiness only grows. He pushes into you carefully, like he doesn't want to break you. As if he could. But still, the thought makes you smile. Jake is cautious because he doesn't want to hurt you. He cares about you.

He loves you.

The thought makes you gasp, and he glances at you sharply, the concern evident in his expression. "Keep going, English. You're doing great." You will yourself to offer as little resistance as possible. Slowly, carefully, he slides into you, filling you with his delicious warmth.

You feel it when he's fully inside you. Not just because the fuzz around his dick has met your balls, but because you can sense the overwhelming emotion coming from Jake. You know before he does it that he's going to lean over and kiss you.

So when he does, you eagerly meet his lips, your tongue greeting his and pulling at him playfully. You love this man. You love him so much.

He keeps kissing you as he slowly, almost experimentally, moves out and then back into you. You give him a small hum of encouragement. He's doing things right. Hell, you don't think Jake can really do anything wrong at this point.

You start rolling your hips in time to meet him, and you feel the pleasure wrack through him, from his core, through his arms and legs, to his fingers and toes, and into you. His energy is so fucking wonderful. It's so Jake.

He starts picking up the pace, and it isn't long before you can feel his breath quickening, his body beginning to shudder with want. You grip his butt tighter, pulling him into you harder. He isn't trying to contain the small whines anymore, and it's music to your ears.

He loves you he loves you he loves you.

You love him you love him you love him.

Jake's body tenses, his movements becoming sharper, more forceful. You know he's close. You are too. And if you time this right—

Jake stills, and you feel the warmth of his love spilling inside you. You allow yourself a deep throated growl, one you usually hold back so as not to scare people. But this is Jake. Somehow, you know he will accept you for what you are regardless of what you do.

A second later, you're coming with him, squeezing the plushness of his rump tighter, letting yourself spill everywhere between yourself and him. It's a fucking unbelievably crazy high.

The burning fire of his energy surrounds you like lava, completely carrying you away. For a few moments, you simply stop being. You aren't.

There's only Jake. Jake's happiness. Jake's love.

A few moments later, you come back to yourself to find your hands stroking Jake's back lightly. He's still laying on top of you, panting softly from the exertion. Your come is everywhere. It makes one giant sticky mess, and you guess it's a good thing there's a bathing pool nearby. Have you ever come this much in your life? How the hell could loving someone affect that?

Jake finally props himself up on his elbows, grinning at you lopsidedly. "Well, Strider, that was quite a go," he murmurs softly.

"Yeah. Yeah it was," you agree lightly.

"I don't suppose you would care for a bath again?" he asks, his grin growing wider. "Perhaps you will allow me the honor of bathing you this time?"

Even though you just had literally mind-blowing sex, he's fucking planning something. It's something stupid. Something John might do. But you can't seem to bring yourself to mind right now. "Yeah, sure."

His smile is so wide that it practically splits his face in two. You grip onto him tighter instinctively. Here it comes. Here it fucking comes.

Jake lifts you off the ground with those oversized biceps, and tosses you into the middle of the pool. The splash is so huge it knocks a good amount of water out of the pool, showering at least a couple dozen fairies that were sitting around, invisibly watching you two go at it. And that's just the fairies nearby.

Voyeur fairies. You fucking knew it.

The fairies, now revealed as the perverts they are, shriek and quickly fly away. Jake's face turns a shade of crimson that you adore on him. When he looks at you, a small shy grin on his face and a bar of soap in his hand, you're certain of two things.

Jake English is a huge dork. But you are absolutely in love with him.

You wouldn't have him any other way.

* * *

**LateNiteSlacker's Notes:**

This chapter earned its title because I thought this scene was never going to end. Ever.


End file.
